


Hatching Robin

by Teao



Series: A place in the world [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6495031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teao/pseuds/Teao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Severus makes yet another mistake, and discovers that it's not only joining the Death Eaters that has far-reaching consequences.</p><p>This is a prequel to 'Becoming Harriet', dealing with Robin's early life. It's going to be episodic and fluffy,  and will probably be most interesting if you've read at least a bit of Harriet!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laying an egg

Severus settled himself at his accustomed perch at the end of the bar, and Tim the barman nodded. Severus gave a tight smile in return. Tim handed change over to another patron, an older man, then turned to pick up a glass, filling it with a double measure of whiskey. No ice. He knew the slightly greasy young man would nurse it for an hour or more, and it didn’t make him much profit, but he was happy to see the young Snape capable of being in society without drinking himself to oblivion, unlike his father. He’d seen his profits go down when Tobias Snape finally landed up in hospital with cirrhosis of the liver at the ripe old age of forty-three, but Tim couldn’t say he was particularly sorry to read the obituary for the old man. He’d been violent, full of temper, and though it had never been proved, or even brought to court, it was widely believed by the locals that he’d killed his wife, mousy little Eileen. Tim had lost count of the number of times he’d herded Tobias out so he could lock the door at the end of the night, and he knew a bottle awaited the man at home too. He’d always felt sorry for Eileen, with her black eyes, and the small boy who learnt early to be silent. Tobias had never showed off his child like the other men at the pub. He hadn’t drunk to celebrate when Eileen went into hospital to birth Severus; he’d groused about mouths to feed.

“Alright, Sev?” Tim asked, sliding the drink across the bar to him. “How’s medical school going?”

“Lots of work,” Severus commented shortly.

“Aye, I’ve heard it’s a tough business,” Tim agreed. Severus had exact change on the bar already, and Tim took it and went on to his next customer, leaving the brooding teenager to stare moodily at the opposite wall.

He’d been there almost twenty minutes when Tim noticed a little figure climbing up onto the stool next to him. Annie Brandon. He suppressed a smile: her parents would be furious to see her in this ‘den of immorality’ as Paul Brandon was fond of calling it. The fact that Tim saw them every week at Mass didn’t seem to convince them that perhaps alcohol was not the very work of the devil. He probably wouldn’t approve of his daughter mixing with Severus Snape either- he had his heart set on a marriage between her and the vicar’s second son, never mind that Severus (funny name, that, Tim had never quite figured out why you’d give the moniker to a baby...) was going to be a doctor. Not that Annie was any match for him intellectually, of course. He let her be for a few moments. He’d give the younglings time to talk before offering her a lemonade. She’d been in looking for Severus three nights running, but the dour young man didn’t come in on any schedule.

Tim knew. Tim knew all his locals.

“Hello, Sev,” Annie said quietly.

Severus grunted in reply. He’d known Annie since they were children in primary school. Not many people had enjoyed being around him even then- he had never been quite clean until he grew up enough to be in charge of his own hygiene. Not Annie, though… Annie had been one of those universally sweet children, who wanted to make friends with everyone. He hadn’t encouraged her, but that hadn’t deterred her. He hadn’t seen her for years, until his mother’s funeral two years ago, then, a few months past, here. He cringed with the memory. He’d missed Lily, been furious at news of her engagement to Potter…

“I’ve tried visiting you, but you never seem to be in,” she said.

“I work a lot,” he replied evenly, still not looking at her. That, and he didn’t want anyone to see the state of Spinner’s End, so he never answered the door. It was in too poor a state to sell, too far gone for the few simple spell repairs he knew, and he had no money for other digs, so he shivered each winter’s night beneath a mountain of blankets, and paid his floo connection fee so he could get to St. Mungo’s. He did work a lot, to be fair, between his classes and his ward duties and spending long evenings in the library. The library had light, and warmth, and no-one bothered him there.. What spare time he had was dedicated to serving, serving the greater good, though lately he found himself inwardly tensing as the anti-muggle sentiment grew. It seemed that the Death Eaters were turning from their original path of maintaining the old ways, the sanctity of magic, and instead veering into fear and hatred of anyone not pureblooded. Idiots. It wasn’t the halfbloods and muggleborns diluting magic, else how did you explain the likes of Lily: muggleborn and brilliant? How long, he wondered, until the axe would fall on the likes of him, branded follower or no?

“I erm, I need to tell you something,” she pressed on, pulling him out of his reverie.

Severus resisted the urge to drop his head to the smooth wood of the bar top. He’d only come in for a drink and some feeling of connection to the world around him, even the muggle one. It wasn’t like he was made very welcome in most Wizarding establishments. “What?” he snapped.

He hadn’t looked at her once, but he still felt her shrink away from him. He mentally berated himself- it wasn’t her fault that he was exhausted, and a headache was blooming behind his eyes. She probably wanted to share some local news, some snippet about a former classmate. Tedium, but certainly nothing to be cruel about. His tutors persisted in telling him he needed to be more personable. “What is it, Annie?” he repeated more gently.

“Maybe we could go somewhere else?” she asked hesitantly.

So it wasn’t some tidbit of gossip, then? Severus finally turned to look at her. She was chewing on her lower lip, and she looked like she was about to cry. He knocked back the rest of his drink, mourning the quiet time mulling over it, and slipped from the high stool. “Come,” he sighed, ushering her ahead of him out of the pub into the late evening light.

The little play park across the road was empty; the young occupants gone home for their tea and a bath and bed. He waved a slender hand across to the deserted swings, the slide reflecting the low sun. She nodded stiffly.

He glanced at her as they wandered across the quiet road. Her cheeks seemed fuller, her face a little rounder. She was the opposite of him: all curves and smiles and dancing blue eyes, not sharp angles and brooding darkness. Had she put on a little weight, he wondered? He opened the gate for her, the hinges squeaking. She made a beeline for the swings. They squeaked too.

He leaned against the upright of the swings, the metal post digging into his back. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She only let go of her lip from between her teeth long enough to ask the question. “How do you feel about marriage?”

He frowned deeply, his heavy brows meeting. “What’s this about, Annie?” he snapped. Had she heard about Lily, and her engagement? Was she going to torment him about it? That didn’t seem like Annie, though. Was she worried that she was not yet engaged? Severus was no great confidant to her, though, he’d not seen her since he bundled her out of his door, her buttons not quite done up right. He should never have taken advantage of her like that…

His brain had whirred through all of these possibilities before she’d worked up the courage to answer. “I… I’m going to have a baby,” she whispered, so quietly that he wondered if he’d misheard.

“Pardon?”

“I’m going to have a baby,” she repeated, only a squeak louder.

He’d declared a specialisation in midwifery only two months earlier, the only male to have taken the specialisation in almost a decade. Was that why she was telling him this? But she didn’t know, how could she know? Was it simply because she believed him to be in training to become a doctor, since she’d never have heard of a mediwizard?

“That’s nice for you,” he replied evenly. “That is… well… if you want it…” he trailed off before he could dig himself a deeper hole. He had thought that she looked a little rounder. “When are you due?” he queried, deciding it was an innocuous enough question.

“Early March, I think,” she said softly. “It’s nine months, isn’t it?” Then: “Are you… are you pleased?”

He frowned, confused. “If it is what you want, then I am pleased for you,” he said carefully.

She was looking at him expectantly. What did she want him to say? He raised an eyebrow. “Well, are you going to ask me?” she prompted.

“Ask you?” he repeated in bewilderment. Ask her what?

“To marry you,” she stated.

Severus’ head whacked against the swing frame as he straightened rapidly. “What?” he exploded, rubbing at his head

Annie looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap. Her lip was firmly wedged between her teeth again, the red flesh was white with pressure. “It’s what people do, isn’t it, when this happens?” she murmured.

Thoughts tumbled over themselves in Severus’ mind. Was she saying what he thought she was? Was she saying the child was his? Surely not… surely it couldn’t be… it had been once! Once! He’d been drunk! He’d used a muggle sheath!

A little voice in the back of his head, his rational self, coldly informed him that once was all it took, at the right time in a woman’s cycle. And muggle birth control was fallible. He should have taken a potion, but he wasn’t expecting to… He shook his head, trying to clear it, and chase out the echoing ring from hitting his head.”Mine?” he croaked. She nodded. “Are you sure?” he murmured. Sure that she was pregnant, sure that it was his? Was she joking? She didn’t look like she was joking...

She sniffled, and nodded. He swore, and a tear dripped down her cheek and splashed onto her hand. Suddenly, she lurched upright, the violence of motion setting the seat of the swing back violently, the chains protesting.

Severus’ longer legs let him catch her before she’d reached the little gate, catching her around the waist. “Annie!” he said firmly, his head bent to bring his lips near her ear. “Don’t run away.”

“You don’t want me either!” she sobbed. He yanked her around to face him.

“We need to sort this out.” Then, thinking: “What do you mean, either? What’s happened, Annie? Who doesn’t want you?”

“Daddy threw me out,” she sobbed.

“What? When?”

“Three days ago, when they found out.” Her voice broke and cracked as she tried to master her tears. “Mummy made me take a test… she stood and watched me while I did it, she noticed that I hadn’t had my monthlies... I’ve been trying to find you since then.”

“Where are you staying, Annie?” Severus asked urgently. He could sort out the mess later, but she couldn’t be out on the streets, not innocent little Annie Brandon.

“With Isabel,” she offered with a sniff. “On her sofa.”

“Isabel Warrick?” he confirmed. Isabel Warrick had been with them at school, all legs and elbows and pin-straight brown hair in pigtails. She’d just got braces the last time Severus had seen her, when they were eleven years old.

Annie nodded. “She has a flat,” she sniffled. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Sev!”

Unable to help himself, he pulled her into a brief embrace. Then, he put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back enough that he could look down into his face. “Is it truly mine, Annie?”

She nodded. “You’ve slept with no one since?” He knew she’d been a virgin that night, but, hazed by alcohol, he hadn’t thought of it as a possibility until he’d shoved in and blood coated his cock. He felt little sick just remembering it. There was a reason he hadn’t sought her out. He was embarrassed. He should have thought, should have been gentle- No! He should never have done it in the first place!

“No!” She cried. “I’m not a… a… scarlet woman!”

He sighed at her innocence. By Merlin, he’d done poorly by this girl. “Of course not,” he soothed. He wished he could disbelieve her, but Annie, lie? Surely not… Hadn’t that kind of thing been bred out of her in the long hours each week she spent starting at the altar in that damned church? He tugged her over to the bench set off to the side, intended as a place for parents to watch over their playing children. “There are ways to remove the problem” he suggested carefully. “There are things you could take, and then you wouldn’t be pregnant anymore…”

She gasped. “That’s a sin!” she informed him reproachfully.

He dropped his head into his hands. “It would be easier,” he suggested.

“No!” She shook her head violently. “No, definitely not. It’s a baby, Sev… our baby…”

She was looking at him with such longing in her eyes. He knew what she wanted; she wanted him to get down on one knee. “Annie, I… I have to think. I’ll come and visit you tomorrow, okay? Where does Isabel live?”

She looked like she might cry again, but named a street five minutes walk away. “I’ll walk you home, then,” he suggested, regretting his choice of words when she bit her lip hard again, her eyes welling. Of course it wasn’t home. She nodded, though, and let his usher her out of the park.

“What have you been doing?” he asked gently as they walked. “Are you working, or at university, or…?”

“I work part time at the library,” she said softly. “Mummy got me the job, but Daddy thinks that I probably shouldn’t be working with the kind of people who use the library. He says I need to get married, but no one will want me now.” She turned big, reddened eyes up to Severus.

A knot formed in his chest to complement the stone in his stomach. “I don’t intend to ever marry,” he said as lightly as he could manage. “I can’t see that it’s very important.”

The niggling voice in his head pointed out that he’d marry Lily, but that wasn’t relevant to the situation at hand, so he pressed it to the back of his mind resolutely. No one would actually want to marry him, Annie was just desperate. She’d regret it if she did. He would make a terrible husband.

That was the thought that chased itself around his head as he lay awake all night: he could not imagine being married, certainly not married to anyone but Lily… she was in every homely fantasy he’d ever had. The idea of living with Annie, sharing a bed with Annie, raising a child with Annie… no! The visions were hard to force, and filled him with revulsion. Every scenario he saw left him in the same state as his father, in a drunken stupor, or reaching out to strike Annie’s round, smiling face… he tried to imagine her big with child, he tried to imagine a child, perhaps a little girl with Annie’s blue eyes and his dark hair, but every time, he came up blank. He hoped that any child would not look like him; greasy, lanky Severus Snape.

He rolled over huffily, pulling the blankets with him. Child? What was he thinking? There could be no child! There were potions… it would be unpleasant, but then she could go back to her parents, say it had been a mistake, he could go back to his life… yes, that was the best option, Severus decided.

But what if she refused? She clearly felt quite strongly about the issue. Severus could understand that: he had, after all, decided to specialise in midwifery to address concerns over falling magical fertility. It had always been low, but now the halls of Hogwarts were near empty. It was still in living memory, just, when the meals had taken place in two sittings. Now the Great Hall was never full. Almost no one homeschooled children of Hogwarts age anymore, though the practice had once been common amongst the better-off families. When the son of Abraxas Malfoy had attended school with the riffraff rather than have personal tutors, it was a clear signal to the wizarding world: this was the new order. He supposed he could try to sneak the potions into her, adulterating her food...

He could just leave. If he picked up some more shifts, glamoured the house to sell it, perhaps… and maybe Lucius would allow him to stay at Malfoy manor for a time. He could disappear from here: she’d never find him. He could pretend that it had never happened. What was there for him in Cokeworth anyway? Something about that plan felt wrong to him though. He cursed his sense of duty. Could he live with the guilt?

Another thought struck him: what would happen when the child reached Hogwarts age? They would be considered muggle-born, not half-blooded, with no father to claim them. He looked a lot like his own father, what if the line carried true? A little carbon copy, appearing at Hogwarts? In eleven years time, he could have a successful career: it could be ruined. And as anti-muggle feeling in the Dark Lord’s camp was rising, an indiscretion with a muggle woman would ruin his credibility. If it was so now, how would it be in eleven years time? He shuddered to think it, but the Lord already claimed to some muggle killings, claiming they had misused old powers, powers that they had no right to claim. Would he kill an apparently muggle-born child? Severus’ child? From his bed, in the tiny bedroom where he’d grown up, cried tears of anger, of loneliness, of pain, bled from parentally-inflicted wounds, he watched the dawn light turn the sky from black to grey to red.  

He lay there until half past six. Then, feeling more inferius than human, he rose, washed, dressed. Seven. It was Saturday morning; he had no classes, and, somewhat unusually, no duties at the hospital. Was it too early? Maybe. Would she answer? Maybe. She might refuse to see him… she’d refused before

He could only try. She was the closest thing he could claim to a friend… he certainly couldn’t go to his mentor in society, Lucius. Not with this problem. If it had been a witch, perhaps… why, why hadn’t he taken a damned potion?

He reached for the pot of floo powder. It was running low. He’d need to buy another scoop soon enough. He sighed. It was notoriously hard to brew: time consuming and labour intensive and easy to get wrong. There was a reason everyone bought the stuff. He tossed a pinch into the fire and called out Lily’s floo address.

It took her a few minutes before she appeared, rumpled, wrapped tightly in a fluffy blue dressing gown. “Severus, I’ve told you…” she began, in the tone of the long-suffering.

“Please, Lily. I need your help,” he begged.

She knelt before the flames, peering at his head, wreathed in greenish flickering.  “You look terrible, Sev,” she murmured. “What is it?”

There was Lily’s kind heart. He really hoped she’d help him. “I did something stupid,” he muttered.

“Is anyone dead?” she asked.

“No.”

“Are you going to kill anyone?”

“No, it’s nothing like that, Lily… please.”

“I’m coming through,” she said.

“No! No… can I come to yours instead?”

She frowned. “You said no one was dead,” she accused with narrowed eyes. “Is there something there that you don’t want me to see, Sev?”

He sighed. “Nothing. It’s just not very tidy.”

“Well, James is still asleep in my bed. I doubt you want to see that.”

Severus paled further, if that was possible. “Okay. Just, please, don’t judge me. I’m at Spinner’s End. Password’s Eileen.” He pulled his head from the flames.

It took Lily only a few moments to emerge from the floo, brushing off a streak of soot from her cheek. She looked around. “Merlin, Sev, this place is a dump!”

Severus shuffled his feet, his eyes fixed on the hole in his sock. He needed to fix that… “Yeah, well,” he agreed. “There was a reason I didn’t want you here.”

She wandered around the kitchen. He’d used all the cleaning spells he knew, but the dirt was ingrained from years of neglect. The peeling, bubbled wallpaper was yellowed from tobacco until it was almost the colour of tobacco itself, and an air of misery hung over the entire place. “Why not get it fixed up?” she suggested. “There are people who specialise in domestic spells, you know- they could get the wallpaper stripped and something else hung, do some real scouring…”

Severus mumbled.

“What?” She asked.

“Can’t afford it,” he repeated, barely louder, still looking at his toes.

“Didn’t you parents leave you anything?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Dad had debts,” he said. “Drank all his money, anyway. The house isn’t worth much, and it was pretty much all they had. I only just managed to keep it, after Dad’s debts were settled.”

Lily sighed. “I’m sorry, Sev. I assumed your rich Slytherin friends would help.” He shrugged again. She pulled a chair from beneath the grimy table, inspected it with a wrinkle of her nose, and sat, evidently deciding that the greying colour wasn’t going to leave marks. “So, what is it?”

He looked everywhere but at her. She didn’t seem to belong here with her red hair and green eyes, not all black and white like him. “Do you remember Annie Brandon?” he asked to begin.

“Yeah. Plump girl. Not quite all there in the head. Some kind of religious zealot. Followed you around like a lost puppy in year five. Reckon she had a crush on you. That Annie Brandon?”

“Erm, yeah,” he said. “See, the thing is… I got really drunk. And she was there, you know, and I was horny, and…”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Eurgh, Severus! You slept with her? Is that even morally right? Does she actually, you know, understand? Quite apart from the fact that she got pulled out of any lessons so much as mentioning sex, surely she has some kind of mental deficiency?”

“That’s not fair!” he snapped, finally looking at her, eyes blazing. “She knew what it was about, she just hadn’t done it before! And I think you’re an idiot for sleeping with bloody Potter, but I don’t go around saying it!”

“You just did, _actually_!” she blazed. “And if you only asked me here to tell me about your dubious conquests, I’m leaving!” She shoved the chair back, marching towards the fireplace again.

“She’s pregnant!” Severus cried out plaintively. “Lily, she’s pregnant, and I don’t know what to do!”

Lily froze. “What?”

“It was once, Lily! I used protection, I did, but it just… ugh! It’s all gone wrong!”

She turned slowly. “Her father is going to kill you,” she said softly.

Severus nodded. “They threw her out as soon as they found out.”

“What are you going to do?”

He looked at her plaintively. “I don’t know. Please, Lily, you were always the one who could tell me how to be. You always helped me out. Help me again?”

“I shouldn’t,” she sighed. “You got yourself into this mess, Severus Snape, and you should get yourself out of it. But that’s not fair on Annie. But don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you for what you’ve done!”

“Please, Lily, it was a mistake. I never meant to say those things… it was unforgivable.”

“Yes, it was,” she snapped. “Which is why I’m not forgiving you. You really do seem to be making a lot of mistakes recently. I bet you’ll say you never meant to sleep with Annie either.”

“I didn’t,” he sighed. “I offered her a potion to get rid of the child, but she wouldn’t have it. She says it’s a sin.”

“Well, that’s her choice,” Lily remarked primly. “You have to respect that. You donated the sperm, now it’s her lookout what to do with it, you know.”

“I know,” he sighed.

She looked around. “You’re going to have to get something done with this place if you want to move her and a baby in here,” she said.

Severus looked stricken. “Move her in? Lily, I can’t!”

“Then you’ll have to sell this and get somewhere else. That’s probably best, you know. This house is miserable. But you’ll have to marry her, Sev. It’s the only way her parents will ever accept it.”

“Lily, I can’t,” Severus ground out, fear strangling his voice. “I can’t marry her! I don’t love her, I don’t want her! I’d be like my dad! I’d drink it away, I’d probably hit her, and what awful things would I do to the child? I’m not cut out for that, Lily- husband, father, all that crap.”

Lily huffed in frustration. “You make it sound like some kind of terrible thing, being married.”

“Imagine if someone told you you have to marry, oh, I don’t know, Frank Longbottom.”

“Frank’s very nice.”

“But would you marry him?” Severus pressed.

Lily wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not,” she admitted. “Okay, I see your point. But it’s your responsibility, Severus. You made the mistake- no matter what you say, I don’t think she could really know what she was getting into. She was so sheltered! So it’s up to you. If you won’t marry her, you still have to look after her. You’ve got to find her a place to live, you’ve got to give her money so she can raise the kid. And you’ve got to be around, because when that kid starts doing accidental magic, someone’s got to explain what’s going on. That’s your duty.”

Severus sighed. Lily had come to the same conclusion as him. There was no better moral compass than Lily Evans. “You’re right,” he agreed. “I’ll have to make it work. Somehow.” He glanced at the clock with the cracked glass on the wall. Half past seven. He should go and see Annie soon, try and get something sorted, put them both out of their misery. “I’d offer you tea, but there’s no milk,” he sighed.

“That’s okay. I should get back anyway, or James will worry,” Lily said. “Look, Sev… let me know how it goes, okay?” Lily waited until he nodded before she vanished through the floo again. He took one of the two glasses down from the cupboard, filled it with water and gulped it down before putting on his shoes.

He’d intended to go and see Annie. Somehow, though his steps pulled him away until he stood before the house where she’d grown up, in the nicer end of town. The brick was clear, bright red, cleaned regularly. The ubiquitous rose climbed up the trellis by the front porch; the path was scrubbed clean. The windows sparkled, the curtains neatly tied back. He took a deep breath, opened the gate (it most certainly did not squeak) and walked as confidently up the path as he could muster the guts for. Perhaps… perhaps they’d calmed down, would take Annie back. It was clear that her family meant a lot to her. Lily had been right; she wasn’t really ready to manage in the world alone. She’d been so frightened...

The doorbell sounded distant, like his head was underwater. A prim woman in a flowered apron answered the door. She had Annie’s eyes. “We don’t wish to buy anything, thank you,” she said, seeing him, and made to shut the door.

“Oh, no. I’m not selling anything, Mrs. Brandon,” he said. Her name made her stop.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“You may not remember me. My name is Severus Snape. I went to primary school with your daughter.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s this about?”

Severus swallowed hard. He was here now. He was no coward. “I wondered if I could speak to you and your husband about Annie,” he replied.

So that was how he found himself perching uncomfortable on the edge of a beige sofa, complete with lace antimacassars. He studied a framed embroidery sampler as Mrs. Brandon poured him a cup of tea. Mr Brandon sat in a matching armchair, his legs crossed and his fingers tapping at the velveteen arm. Propriety dictated that he wait until tea was served until he launched in, so he waited until his wife had given both men a full cup, and Severus had taken a polite sip. “So, lad, what’s this about?” he demanded.

Severus carefully set his cup on the provided lace coaster. “I met Annie yesterday, and she informed me of her… situation,” he said carefully. “About the… about the baby.She said that you’d indicated she wasn’t welcome here any longer.”

“No daughter of mine is having a child out of wedlock,” Mr Brandon said firmly. “So she can find the rouge that tumbled her, and she can marry him, or she can stay well away. And she can stop sending messengers to do her begging for her.”

Severus tried to pull some kind of moisture into his dry mouth. He tried to swallow, but there was nothing there to force down his parched throat. He screwed up his courage. “It was me,” he croaked.

Mrs. Brandon gasped, her hand going to her chest. Mr. Brandon was more sanguine. “Humph,” he grunted. “Well, young man, you’ve spoilt her life quite spectacularly. I remember your father lurching down the street, blind drunk and cussing, but I’ve never heard bad of you. What’s your career?”

Severus licked his lips. “I’m training to be a doctor, Sir,” he replied.

Mr. Brandon nodded sagely, he clearly liked the answer. “Religious? I know I don’t see you at mass. Are you Anglican, perhaps?”

“Not religious, Sir,” Severus replied nervously. Why did he feel he was at a job interview? What was this man’s objective?

“Then you won’t object to the child being raised in the Catholic way,” Mr. Brandon declared firmly. “You’ll have to be baptised, of course, but that can be dealt with in a rush- we’ll need to get you married as soon as possible. It’s already a bit too late to claim a honeymoon baby, if Annie’s telling the truth on the timing. Very well. You have my permission to wed my daughter. A month should be plenty to have the banns read, and you can be baptised just before the wedding.”

Severus’ hands had clenched into tight fists. He could barely breathe. This man had it all planned out… well, Severus had had enough of other people planning his life. “I shan’t be marrying your daughter, Sir,” he replied, as evenly as he could, forcing each word out. “I’ll do everything I can to see that the baby is looked after, but I can’t marry a woman I barely know.”

Mr. Brandon was growing scarlet, then purple, with rage. Mrs. Brandon had given a few odd, breathy sobs. “Now, see here, boy…” Mr Brandon began.

Severus sprang to his feet, itching to draw his wand. “Will you have Annie back home?” he asked quickly, the words tumbling over each other. “She is your daughter.” He edged towards the door.

Mr. Brandon exploded up out of his chair. “I have no daughter!” he spat, spraying Severus across the table. “You’ve ruined her life, boy, ruined it! You tell that harlot that she’ll never darken my doorstep again!”

Severus didn’t wait to be shown out; he near sprinted from the room, down the hall, and wrenched open the front door. He was sprinting down the street, and he didn’t look back.

It was only when he’d rounded the corner that he slowed to a jog, then, a street further, stopped, and leaned against a low brick wall, panting. Well, that hadn’t gone well. Annie hadn’t been exaggerating. He gave himself a few minutes to breathe, then set off in the direction of Annie’s temporary abode, still cursing himself for his stupidity.

 


	2. The hatchling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer: I know very little about babies! The adverts on my browser are currently all about babies, given all the searching of random birth and baby related things I searched for this chapter, but undoubtedly, I'll have got some things wrong! Please be kind...

Severus rubbed his smarting cheek, glaring down at the woman opposite him. “You can be nice, Sev Snape, or you can get out of my home!” Isabel blazed. “I don’t care what part you’ve had to play in this, if you can’t behave yourself, you don’t deserve to be part of it!”

She’d slapped him. She’d actually hit him! He was torn between anger at the affront and admiration for her courage. Annie watched wide eyed from the corner. He should be grateful that Isabel had hit him before his temper got the better of him and he’d struck Annie. His pride still smarted, though. “I’ll behave,” he grumbled.

“See that you do,” Isabel retorted sharply. “I’m just next door… and the door stays open!”

“There are things I need to discuss with Annie that are very private,” Severus growled.

“Well, you gave that up when you scared her into a corner,” Isabel said. “You can say it where I can hear it or not at all.” She flapped her hands at him until he stepped back, bewildered, then she beckoned Annie to a chair. “Sit down, Annie, and then Sev will too, and that way, he can’t push you into the corner again.”

“I didn’t push…” Severus began, but Isabel cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “I wouldn’t be letting you in here at all if it wasn’t to try and make sure Annie has some support, so you’d better buck up your ideas fast. You can be kind to her and do the right thing, or you can make yourself scarce, and we’ll gladly have a lawyer contact you for your financial contribution.”

Severus nodded dumbly. Isabel Warrick was nothing like the girls at Hogwarts. There, the pureblooded girls were demure, mindful of their place, and the halfbloods and muggleborns learnt soon enough, or were ridiculed. Even Lily, with her firm ideas that intelligence was a better indicator of status than blood purity, believed that women should turn to men for advice, driven as they were by hormones and emotion. Severus suspected that Isabel would quite possibly slap him again if he gave any such view. She stared him down, and then seemed to decide she’d cowed him enough. She brusquely indicated a chair. “Sit. Behave. One more outburst, and I’ll have you out.”

He nodded again, but she still seemed to be waiting for something. On a hunch, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Annie.”

This seemed to mollify Isabel. She sniffed disdainfully, turned and left. Severus took a long breath. He’d been trying to convince Annie that it would be best to remove the problem altogether, and apparently, the issue had become heated. He gave it one last try. “You’re sure?” he asked. “All this could go away.”

She folded her hands protectively over her belly. “I’m sure,” she said quietly. 

Severus looked out of the window to his right, not quite able to look at Annie. “I’ll do whatever I can,” he said flatly. “I don’t have much money right now, but I really will do what I can. I’ll be honest, I don’t want this. I’m not interested in having a child, not right now.” And not with you, was the unspoken through ricocheting in his head. 

“We could make it work,” she pleaded. “Be a real family?” 

Severus shook his head. “I won’t marry.”

“Why not?” she demanded petulantly. 

He made a decision, then. He knew he’d have to warn her about magic, but he couldn’t, not with Isabel listening. He couldn’t tell her that he was hopelessly in love with Lily Evans either. But he could show her something else, something to convince her that he would be a poor husband. “How much do you remember of that night, the night when all this-” he indicated her belly with a wave of his hand- “happened?”

She blushed hotly. “Enough,” she said. “It… it hurt, and it felt so… so… delicious.”

He raised an eyebrow. Who’d have thought it? He hadn’t been gentle with her. But that wasn't what he was aiming for. “You asked then why I kept my clothes on,” he said. 

She scrunched her face, as if she was thinking hard. “Yes…” she agreed slowly. “I remember that…” She’d asked him why, asked if it was normal to do this with clothes on… he hadn’t even completely undressed her, her blouse open and her skirt hiked to her waist.

He gulped, afraid now. “I’d like to show you something, show you why I didn’t remove my clothes.” He was nervous: with the exception of his parents, the only other person to have seen this was Madam Pomfrey. He began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Sev?” Annie asked nervously, unsure.

“I’m not going to touch you,” Severus said darkly. He shucked the shirt from his shoulders, stood, turned so his back was to her..

She gasped. “Oh, Sev,” she cried. “What happened?”

He knew what she saw, he’d twisted in the mirror to see it enough times. His back was crossed with scars: thick white weals running in every direction. They continued down over his buttocks and even the upper part of his legs, but Annie didn’t need to see that. He remembered the time he’d spent two days in the hospital wing on his belly after the Summer holidays, poultices covering the bleeding welts. By his third year, Madam Pomfrey had called him to see her as a matter of course after each time he returned home, to heal him. “My father was not a nice man,” he explained shortly. He shrugged the shirt back on, covering the battlefield of his back. “He was quick with his belt. I can’t be a husband, Annie, I can’t be a father. I would end up like him.”

“You wouldn’t, Sev!” she protested.

“I might. I’m not putting myself in a position where I could,” he said darkly. “Trust me, Annie, it would be better if I were not involved at all. It would be better if you told me to leave, and never see me again.”

“You don’t have to be like that, Sev,” Annie exclaimed plaintively. “You can turn to God to help you with your anger!”

Severus dropped his head into his hands. Annie really hadn’t changed since school. “I do not wish to discuss religion,” he mumbled. “I would prefer not to consider religion at all in this. Just tell me, Annie: what is it that you want from me?”

“I want you to marry me,” she said boldly. 

“That is not an option. What I want to know is if you would prefer me to leave and send you money as I can, or would you like me to have some involvement in the… the child’s life?”

She twisted her fingers in her lap. “I want my baby to have a father,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be a single mother, Sev!”

“I’m sorry, Annie. I’m sorry that I can’t marry you; I can’t enter into that kind of commitment on a whim, and you should not have to live with a man such as I. You can find much kinder men, a man who will love you and cherish you.”

“Not with a baby!” she exclaimed.

He was sure that there were men out there who would take a woman even with a child. “You could tell them that the father of your child had died,” he suggested. “That way, there is no slight on your honour.”

Annie was already shaking her head, affronted. “That would be a lie!” she protested. “Please, Sev… this baby… it’ll be your child! He or she deserves a father!”

He sighed deeply. He stood, pacing over to the window looking down onto the grey, concreted streets, hopeful dandelions pushing their heads through the cracks. “There are things that I must tell you, things that I can only tell you alone, but that you have a right to know,” he said. 

“Isabel won’t tell anyone,” Annie promised.

“This is a secret which can only be shared in very specific circumstances,” Severus said. “You will understand, later. But once I have told you, you must decide what you want. I can go, and send what money I can; it will be up to you what you tell the child, your acquaintances.”

“Please,” Annie began to beg.

Severus held up a hand, stopping her. “You can send me away, or I can have some part in this child’s life. But it will be on my terms, Annie. I will live separately from you and the child. I will have my own life, and you will have yours. I will visit as we agree, and I will have the final decision in where the child is educated.” That way, he mused, he could enroll the child at a foreign school, Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, or if he was wealthy enough, pay for a private tutor, and never have the bastard exposed to the wizarding world at large. 

“I… I suppose so,” Annie said sadly. 

“One more thing… the child will not have my name,” he continued. He didn’t want that connection.

“But why?” she asked plaintively. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you can’t see this as a gift, a gift to us from God-”

His anger was rising again, frustration at her blinkered, one-directional views. “I told you,” Severus snapped. “I will have no mention of God. You may baptise the child as you will, take it to church or whatever other bizarre religious rituals you deem necessary, but do not involve me with your deity.”

She still looked confused, but fell silent. She nodded glumly. “Okay,” she agreed quietly. “I suppose, as long as you promise to visit, to be a father, I can manage on my own…”

The way she put that put Severus’ teeth on edge. She was a grown adult! He was managing to live alone perfectly well. “Yes, I imagine you will be fine,” he agreed. “Now, will you tell your overbearing friend to leave us alone, or will you come somewhere private with me, so i can give you the information needed?”

Isabel finally agreed to go into her bedroom. She turned on the radio, and in the cover given by the music, Severus hesitantly explained that there was a whole part of the world that she’d never known existed, that the school he and Lily had attended was not for the academically gifted, but the magically gifted, and that the child she carried would be not just a boy or a girl, but a witch or a wizard. 

He’d been expecting outright disbelief. He knew he was decidedly stretching the statute of secrecy by telling her, but he thought that the longer she had to get used to the idea, the less opposed she would be, and perhaps, just perhaps, she’d decide it was all too much and agree to take the potion. She didn’t though: she took it in her stride, despite the problems he thought it would raise with her religious viewpoint. She didn’t even ask for proof, not a single wand-waving exercise. She just nodded serenely when he attempted to impress on her the secrecy of the matter. She only made any show of negative emotion when he reminded her that the safety of the baby in her belly was reliant on the secrecy of the wizarding world. Her blind acceptance didn’t sit easily with him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she already knew, somehow, though she insisted that she did not.

It sat in the back of his mind for the next few days as he buried himself in essays on the safety of various potions during pregnancy, and he found himself feeling odd when he observed his first actual birth on the Monday. That tiny, red, squashed little creature- there would really be one that was half him? It made Severus feel very small, and utterly unprepared for this. Why on earth had he said he would help? It was all very well dealing with the things when they were still inside the witches, but what on earth did you do with one afterwards?

He ignored the knock on his door on Tuesday evening. He always ignored the knocks on his door. It was usually only people trying to sell him something, though, of course, it had apparently also been Annie…

Another volley of bangs came, and with them, a voice. “I know you’re in there!” a vaguely familiar voice called. “Answer this door right now!”

Severus let his head fall into his book. He’d said he would see Annie on Saturday. Why, then, was Isabel pounding down his door?

“Sev Snape, open this door!” she shouted, banging again. She was going to break his door down if she wasn’t careful. With a sigh, he went out into the hall to unlock the door. 

“What?” he snapped, opening the door just enough to fit his lanky frame between the wall and the door. 

“Finally,” she replied, just as sharply. “Honestly, what were you doing to take so long? Hanging in the attic like a bat? No, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. We need to talk.”

“Do you ever stop to breathe?” he enquired sarcastically. 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“No.”

“So you want to have this conversation about your private life in the street?” she enquired with barbed honey-sweet tones. “Fine. The bastard results of your dalliance…”

He didn’t give her time to finish her sentence, grabbing her wrist with a growl and dragging her into the dark hallway. She looked around, her face turned upwards to view the cobwebs. “Huh. Maybe you really do hang out with the bats in the attic. I’ve never been in this place before. It’s filthy.”

He crossed his arms across his chest. “My mother wasn’t a housekeeper. What do you want?”

“Fine, fine, we’ll do it here,” she sighed. “Not like I really needed a cup or tea or a biscuit, anyway.” Severus just leaned against the wall and stared her down. “I can’t keep her, you know. I love Annie like a baby sister, but I’ve got my own life, and I can’t just be looking after her all the time. She needs to get away from here, get away from her parents and their bloody friends. They wouldn’t let her in their church on Sunday, you know?”

“What are you suggesting I do about it?”

“I’m saying you need to step up! Look, I know you don’t really know what Annie’s like, but she’s not really able to look after herself. She works a bit, about ten hours a week, down at the local library- reading stories to the kids, stuff like that. Well, she did work there- they’ve told her not to come back. She’s not really trained for any kind of job, though. She can cook a bit, and she can clean a bit, but she doesn’t really have any skills, no money management, nothing. She was trained to be a wife, not a woman, and her morals, well, they’re just screwed up. She’s been practically brainwashed by her parents. She won’t go to the doctor, because she thinks they’ll denounce her for being some kind of prostitute…”

Severus interrupted there. “She’s had no medical care for the pregnancy?” he asked sharply.

Isabel shook her head. “No. She was hiding her head in the sand for three months, and I tried to make her go, made her an appointment and everything, but she wouldn’t go. I can’t be responsible for her for the rest of her life, her and a kid! That seems to be your lookout now.”

“I didn’t ask for this to happen,” he spat back at her, annoyed by her insinuation.

“Nor did she,” Isabel pointed out evenly. “She knows nothing about sex, that part should have been up to you to take care of protection.”

“I did take care of it!” Severus snapped. “I’m not an idiot, I used a condom.”

Isabel shrugged. “Unlucky, then,” she sympathised. “Still, it’s more your problem than mine. She can’t live on a sofa, and she’s not confident enough to go it alone. Sh needs help. I know you said you wouldn’t marry her, but you don’t have to be married to live together, you know? Separate bedrooms, whatever, but Annie needs to have someone to look after her.”

“I’ll consider the problem,” Severus said wearily. “And I’ll sort out some medical care for her.”

“Good,” Isabel said briskly. “And Sev… if you’re going to have her move in here, for God’s sake, get a cleaner or something.”

His lip curled in derision. “My thanks for your excellent suggestion,” he growled.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Be good to her,” was her parting shot. He slammed and locked the door behind her.

Rubbing his temples, he went back to the kitchen table, pushed his books to one side and pulled a fresh piece of parchment towards him. Beginning at the top, he jotted down his training salary and the contents of his meagre savings, and tried to make the sums work. 

He was armed with a plan when he next visited Annie on Saturday. “Come on,” he told her briskly. “We’re going out.”

He’d have apparated, but he didn’t want to frighten her, so they took the bus, clunking along, two towns over. This was a smaller place, less factories, less shops too, and a forty-minute ride on two different buses to cokeworth. It was also cheaper. Annie kept asking where they were going. He told her to wait and see, staring moodily out of the window. 

The flat was tiny: a bedsit rather than a flat, really, with the kitchen and the bedroom and the living room all squashed up together. The agent met them at the door, but quickly backed himself into a corner when Severus glared at his inane chatter. “I… I don’t understand?” Annie queried, standing bewildered in the middle of the floor.

“You need somewhere of your own to live,” Severus said shortly. “ You can’t stay on Isabel’s sofa forever. I thought perhaps you’d like to be somewhere away from your parents, and this is a nicer town. I will pay.”

“But… where will you live?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t concern yourself with that,” he said shortly. He’d borrowed a motley collection of books on glamours for the home, and taken a week’s leave from the hospital- it would be time he wasn’t paid for, but only having to attend classes meant that he could use the time to try to make Spinner’s End presentable for sale. He’d found a squalid little room for rent in the middle of nowhere, but for a wizard, location didn’t mean much. He finished his training in two years, hopefully then, he’d have the money for somewhere better. He didn’t want to take Annie too far from her friends, too far for occasional visits, but he also wanted to take her away from Cokeworth, where it seemed her parents would make life difficult for her. 

He’d expected her to have concerns, to be worried about moving, or have demands for where she lived, but she was astonishingly sanguine. She accepted his choice without any further questions, and moved in the next week, bringing with her only a few changes of clothes: Severus was shocked to learn that she had left her parents with literally nothing, not a single item besides the clothes on her back. It was lucky that the flat was furnished. Severus was relieved that Isabel had taken it on herself to fund some clothing and toiletries for her friend: Severus’ Gringotts account was bare, and his muggle account not much better after paying a deposit and three month’s rent in advance. Isabel even stocked the cupboards with some food.

The months passed. Severus visited Annie twice a week, and whilst he could not persuade her to visit a muggle doctor, she took the nutrient potions he gave her without complaint. She even let him examine her, and thought the lights around her belly were pretty. It was the first magic she’d seen performed, but any onlooker might have thought she’d been around it all her life: she didn’t react with shock or surprise. By Christmas, he was able to tell her she was having a male child, though he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that is was supposed to be  _ his _ . He didn’t see many prospective fathers, unless there was something very wrong with the pregnancy: he’d sat in on just such a discussion with his supervisor last week, where the child was badly malformed. Annie’s child, though… his child, he tried to remind himself, seemed to be developing normally though.

Annie spent Christmas with Isabel’s family. Severus spent it working. He got paid time and a half, and he treated himself to a drink… the first he’d had since Annie had told him she was expecting. At the hospital, he’d sat beside an old witch, a hundred and forty-three, and spoken to her as she waited for death, which finally came at ten minutes to five on Christmas day afternoon. He needed the drink after that, he reasoned. He was pleased that he’d chosen midwifery rather than palliative care as a specialism. It wasn’t so gut-wrenching.

As January began, Annie began to think of preparations for the baby. Whilst Severus, conscious of the practicalities, wanted her to decide where she intended to have the baby, and where they would get a cot and clothes and all the other paraphernalia, all Annie wanted to discuss was names.

To begin with, he told her that he didn’t care, she could call the child whatever she wanted. It was when she told him that she just couldn’t decide between Isiah, Noah or Luke that he waded in. 

“Just what names have you been considering?” he asked. 

“On, the usual ones- Matthew and Mark and Luke and John, but they’re so popular. I’d like something a little bit different- I don’t want him to have the same name as other children in his class. I like Christopher, but it seems wrong to shorten it to Chris. And Isiah, and Noah, and Elijah…”

“Are any of them  _ not _ overtly Christian?” he asked with a sigh.

“They’re all Biblical,” she replied promptly.

“No. No Biblical names,” he said sharply. “If this is to be my child also, no Christian names.”

She blinked at him in confusion. “But you’re named after a saint,” she pointed out.

He had been vaguely aware that there was a Saint Severus. “There aren’t many names that don’t have a bloody saint,” he groused. “However, it is not featured in the Bible. How about Caius?” He’d always liked the name Caius: it was the name of Lucius’ uncle, who bred abraxans, and had been willing to let Severus ride on them when he’d visited the stud with Lucius. 

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. She had the same reaction to Julius, and Maximilian. Frustrated and feeling cruel, he’d suggested Pontius, since she was so keen on Biblical names, and she’d burst into tears. He’d left, slamming the door behind him. She didn’t bring it up the next time he visited. 

Severus was late the next Saturday morning. He’d been working late, helping to deliver a baby. He was trying to get in as much experience as he could in the next month, resigned to the fact that it would be him delivering Annie’s baby, since she still hadn’t had any muggle antenatal care. Perhaps it was best, it would be easier to have the baby magically named. He made a mental note to ask Lily to act as Godmother.

“Robin,” Annie said, not even turning as Severus let himself in. He peered out of the window she was looking through, kneeling up on the sofa, the swell of her belly resting against the cushions.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.” The little red-breasted bird hopped about on the bird table of the flat downstairs.

“No,” she replied. “Not the bird. The baby.”

“I don’t understand,” Severus sighed, sinking onto the sofa next to her. 

“We chould call the baby Robin,” she explained as if to a child. 

Severus tipped his head back against the top of the sofa, closing his eyes. He turned over the name in his head. 

“Severus?” Annie asked quietly. She sounded a little afraid.

“Robin is not overly objectionable,” he allowed. At least it was a name connected to the natural world, rather than to the false pomp and grovelling of her Christian ideals. Like Lily. And one could not easily name a boy child for a flower without provoking teasing. 

“Or maybe we could name him Robert?” she queried.

He didn’t like the name Robert. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him think of an old man. He’d been cursed with a name not fit for a child; he didn’t want to inflict the same on this child. “Robin is better,” he murmured. “Not Rob, though, or Robbie, or Bobbie, or any other infernal shortening.”

“Well, he might get called Robbie…” she wheedled. 

“No. Robin. No child of mine will be be called Robbie.” He spat the name in distaste at the vulgarity, the very  _ commonness _ of it.

She looked a little crestfallen, but still happier than he’d seen her in some time. “What about a middle name?” she asked.

He unfolded himself from the sofa. “I tire of this,” he informed her. “Use what you will as a middle name so long as it is not the name of one of our fathers, or Severus.” He crossed to the little cluster of kitchen counters in the corner of the room, pulling out the teabags and putting the kettle on. He opened the fridge for milk.

“Annie, your milk is spoiled,” he informed her.

“Oh. Is it really?”

Severus sighed. He tipped the slightly lumpy and smelly liquid down the sink, rinsing it away well. He supposed he’d be drinking his tea black, then going out to buy some milk. Perhaps he could persuade Annie to go with him. Perhaps he could finally induce her to go with him to buy some baby clothes. She cut into his thoughts with her next question. “When do you think the baby will come?” she asked.

“In about three weeks,” he replied promptly, his attention focused on the kettle. He was keenly aware of the date she was due to have the baby. “Why do you ask?”

“Because my tummy keeps hurting,” she replied. 

“How long has it been hurting?” Severus asked, turning this information over in his mind. Could she be in labour? Perhaps it was the beginnings of false contractions?

“A few days, on and off,” she replied quietly. 

Severus frowned deeply. He fished his wand from his pocket. “Turn around, Annie, and let me see what’s going on.”

Obediently, she maneuvered herself around so she was sitting facing forward, her tummy round before her. He cast a visualisation spell: the baby’s head had dropped low into her pelvis. He knelt before her, slipping into the persona he’d been working on developing over the last few months, trying to be caring. “I need to feel your tummy,” he said calmly. “Is that okay?” He had touched her as little as possible, trying to maintain a distance so she didn’t think there was something between them that wasn’t there. She nodded. Carefully, he placed his hands on either side of her swollen abdomen, needing to check just how far down the baby was. “The baby’s dropped,” he told her. “He’s almost ready to be born.”

“Now?” she asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

He sighed. “Almost,” he said. “Can you go and take off your knickers and climb up on the bed, Annie? I’m afraid I’ll have to check you inside to see how soon.” He offered her a hand, and she levered herself up. His gaze was distant as he mentally went through what necessary. It was too soon… nothing was ready! He’d bought a moses basket and some blankets from a charity shop, but there was no crib. He hadn’t wanted to pick one without Annie, and they were expensive… but they had no clothes for it… for him. For Robin. He crossed to the sink, scrubbing his hands well, then spelling them clean. 

Annie was reclining on the bed, looking unsure. He’d never given her an internal examination before, though they were typically conducted a few times during magical antenatal care. “I’m just going to put my fingers in you to see how close you are,” he reassured her gently. 

“Severus… what’s going to happen?” she asked nervously.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Is it… is having the baby going to hurt?” she asked. 

He dropped his head forward. “Annie… you do know how a baby is born, don’t you?” he asked quietly. He’d not discussed it with her, the actual mechanics of the birth… he hadn’t thought he’d have to! But what if she didn’t know?

“I know it… it comes from the same place as my monthlies,” she murmured. “But… but that seems awfully small. It hurt when… when you…” 

She didn’t need to complete the sentence: Severus knew. When he fucked her, that was what she was trying to say, but she didn’t have the words. “Yes, Annie, it will hurt,” he said softly. “It will hurt quite a lot more than it did when we were together. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

She stared at the ceiling. “In Genesis, God says ‘I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children. Your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.’”

“I’m going to touch you now, Annie,” Severus mumbled, not able to join in her bible study owing to lack of the requisite knowledge. She jumped as he sank his fingers into her with practiced ease. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“But John says: ‘ When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world’,” she continued. “So I can bear the pain, because I will have a gift from God to love at the end of my labour.”

He didn’t bother telling her how far dilated she was; he didn’t think she’d understand. “You’re probably having this baby today,” he informed her. “I’m going to go out for a few minutes: I’m going to ask a friend of mine to buy some clothes for the baby. Would you like me to telephone Isabel and let her know?”

Annie shook her head. “I want it to be a surprise,” she said with a smile. Severus raised an eyebrow: he didn’t know how a pregnant woman having a baby could ever be a surprise, but he knew enough not to argue with a labouring woman.

“I’ll be back soon,” he assured her, slipping out of the door and down the stairs, heading for the back alleyway where he could apparate. 

Lily’s flat was on the second floor. He took the stairs two at a time, pounding on the door. It was answered, not by Lily, but by James Potter. “What are you doing here, Snivellus?” Potter enquired, his tone barbed.

“Don’t you have a home to go to, Potter?” he retorted. “I want Lily.”

“What right do you think you have to see my fiancee?” James snapped.

“Lay off, James,” Lily said softly, ducking under his arm. “What is it, Severus?”

“In private, Lily?” Severus asked deciding it was best to ignore Potter for the moment. Now was not the time for a duel, no matter how much James Potter made his fingers itch to draw his wand. 

Potter didn’t agree. “You’re not spending time alone with her, freak,” he muttered.

“James!” Lily snapped. “Be nice. Severus, come in.”

Potter glared at Severus as his slipped past the shorter man. Severus had to stop himself giving a sigh: Black was here too, and Lupin. It was like Lily was holding some kind of reunion for the damnable bunch. “Come through to the kitchen, Sev,” Lily invited. “We can talk there.”

Black jeered, and Potter glared at him. “Come on, Lil,” he wheedled. “Send the creep away.”

“It’s my home, James,” Lily said with a smile. “Severus means no harm. C’mon, Sev.” She ushered him through the door, shutting it behind them, and warding it for silence. 

Morning sunlight streamed in through the east-facing window, the plants on the windowsill drinking it up. “What’s the problem?” she asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Severus managed to quirk a little smile at the muggle-ism. “Annie’s in labour,” he told her. “She… we… oh, I don’t know, but there’s no clothes for the baby. Please, Lily… I need to go back to her. Can you nip to the shops, grab some stuff? I don’t know who else to ask.”

She gave a sad smile. “Of course I can. I can’t believe you haven’t sorted this yet, though. Didn’t Annie want to shop for the baby?”

Severus sighed. “She didn’t want to do anything about it, actually. We’ve only just decided on a name- quite literally half an hour ago.”

“What name?” Lily enquired.

“Robin. Please, Lily, I need to get back to her.”

“Of course you do,” Lily replied. She pulled a magnetic notepad off the fridge and picked up a muggle pen. “Now, what do you need?”

“I don’t know. A couple of baby grows. Some vests. A couple of hats. Nappies. Oh, Merlin, nappies… I’ve got a moses basket. I’ll pay you back, but can you make it cheap? Charity shops, or something?”

She scribbled, her auburn hair falling around her face. Severus felt the same painful jerk in his heart, the same awful lurch as whenever he saw Lily like this, concentrating. Why… why did she have to pick stupid, arrogant James Potter? And why was he in this awful mess with Annie? It should be him, Severus and Lily… “Anything else?” she asked, distacting him. “D’you want me to get some baby milk?”

He shook himself out of his moment of wallowing. “Erm, yeah, please, just in case. I think the kid’s pretty small, and it’s almost three weeks early, so newborn size stuff would be best.”

She rewarded him with a smile, then, impulsively, a hug. He held his breath, not really sure what to do. After a second, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her rounded, beautiful body to his, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo. “Congratulations, Severus,” she whispered. She pulled back, looking up at him. “Now,” she said with mock seriousness, “Go back to Annie.”

“Thank you, Lily,” Severus replied seriously. “And… if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, some milk? Annie’s not brilliant at keeping the fridge stocked.”

“I’ll sort it,” Lily promised. “Don’t worry, Auntie Lily has it sorted.”

He couldn’t help a smile at that. He looked down at the floor, remembering the other favour he’d wanted to ask. “Lily… would you be his Godmother?” he asked huskily. 

Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “I’d be honoured, Severus,” she said. “As long as Annie’s okay with that? She might want to pick Godparents. Won’t she want a Christian baptism?”

Severus shrugged. “She can have one,” he said. “The kid needs a magical Godparent, though. The naming’s usually done just after the birth, so everything gets registered with the ministry.”

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” she said. “But of course I will. Now, go, for goodness sake!”

Impulsively, Severus bent to brush a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, Lily,” he repeated.

James Potter looked like he was about to have an aneurysm by the time Severus left the kitchen, and Black was still childishly giggling away to himself. Only Lupin looked like an adult, quietly sitting in the corner with a cup of tea. He nodded in greeting to Severus as he passed.

He had one more place to go: he apparated directly to his own little room. At least he’d had the foresight to start stashing supplies: he’d brewed up a batch of relaxant potions usually used during births to make it easier on the mother, a selection of pain potions for after the labour, even cleansing potions for the baby. He’d quietly acquired a birthing stool too, shrinking it down to get it out of the hospital without questions being asked. He bundled the lot into the bag, along with a clean set of healer’s robes and quickly tied his hair back with practiced motions. He didn’t like how he looked with his hair restrained: it emphasised the angularity of his face, but it was a requirement at St. Mungo’s. He dragged the moses basket and the shrunken stand from his wardrobe, where it had sat incongruously for the last month, and apparated away. 

He was out of breath by the time he’d carted the lot up Annie’s stairs. He fished his key from his pocket and let himself in. 

She’d changed into her nightie. Severus felt almost as if he should avert his eyes. He cursed himself for his stupidity. He’d be seeing a lot more of her soon enough. The potions bottles clinked delicately as he set them on the floor. “Lily Evans is fetching some things for the baby,” he said matter-of factly. He began setting up the moses basket, his back to her. “I’ve asked her to be the baby’s Godparent.”

“I wanted Isabel to be Godmother,” Annie said quietly.

“That’s fine,” Severus said. “A magical Godparent is different, the baby can have both.” He carefully tucked the blanket over the moses basket, pretending it was one of the cribs at St. Mungo’s, that he was at work, that he’d be under the supervision of one of the healers, that he wasn’t doing this alone… he was frightened. What if something went wrong? He should have made Annie go to a muggle doctor, made her have the baby in a hospital…

Annie moaned a little. Severus had to squash his own fear. “A contraction?” he asked quietly, coming over to the bed.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It hurts…”

“I know,” he said. “Lie back for me, Annie… let me see how you’re doing.” He piled pillows behind her so she could recline back.

His training took over. He’d been assisting at a lot of births over the last six months, not all straightforward, and Annie’s did seem to be, at the very least, very straightforward. He gave her a mild pain relief potion and persuaded her to take a warm bath, charming sheets and pillows to be waterproof as she relaxed, panting through contractions occasionally. He warmed a nightdress for her when she got out.

Lily arrived with two bulging bags of baby clothes, a shopping bag and a pot of homemade soup balanced precariously in her arms. Annie was delighted to see her: Severus had had no idea that Lily had been visiting Annie every week too. “From mum,” she said, depositing the soup on the kitchen counter. “I’ve charmed it to stay warm, and she’s busy cooking up some other stuff for Annie.”

“Lily, I said a few clothes!” Severus protested as she began unpacking the bags onto the sofa. At least she’d brought milk for tea. He was desperate for a cup of tea.

“Hush,” she commanded. “Presents from Auntie Lily. It’s my right. I got three sizes, so he can grow into things. I couldn’t resist.” She held up a little baby t-shirt emblazoned with an embroidered robin.

Severus buried his head in his hands as Lily distracted Annie with the clothes, carefully charming each item clean and folding it up. Soon enough, though, she too was gone, leaving when Annie was in too much pain to be so easily distracted, and Severus was left alone with Annie again. He was pleased he’d had the foresight to ward the flat for silence when Annie first moved in, or her neighbours would be worried as she sobbed. She called out for her mother, and Severus wondered if he should, perhaps, have visited the Brandon house again. Her mother may have been a comfort to her. 

His knees were aching from kneeling on the floor, and Annie was crying from exhaustion by the time Robin was born into Severus’ waiting hands, tiny and red and still encased in his caul, which superstition claimed was a sign of a powerful wizard. Carefully, Severus ripped the sac open, rubbing the little creature until he mewled. Ten fingers, ten toes, no obvious malformations, and, just as Severus had predicted, a boy child. Carefully, he swaddled the baby and laid him in Annie’s arms to distract her as he awaited the arrival of the afterbirth.

Two hours later, with baby Robin Christopher (Severus had been far too tired to argue the middle name) named, clean, dressed and asleep in his basket, Severus Snape fell asleep beside Annie Brandon for the first time, too exhausted to return home. 

He didn’t sleep for long, though. He woke suddenly in the darkness. Annie still slept soundly beside him, and for a few minutes, he did not know what had woken him. Why was he here, in his clothes, in Annie’s bed? Then, an odd snuffling met his ears, and he remembered. Carefully, he climbed over Annie’s sleeping form and crossed to the little basket, looking down at its occupant.  The tiny baby blinked up at him. 

Carefully, he picked up the swaddled form. “What is it?” he muttered. He wasn’t much good with the babies. He’d dealt with the sick ones, but not for long, only until there was a paediatric specialist. This little one was tiny, but healthy. He opened his mouth, closed it again. “Hungry, is it?” he guessed. 

He looked over to Annie. He didn’t want to wake her. Lily had brought some muggle baby formula and some bottles. He set the infant back into his crib, surprised when the little boy gave a thin cry. “Alright, then,” Severus said softly, picking him up again. “I suppose I shall just have to do this one handed.” 

Half of the milk may have ended up on the counter instead of in the bottle, but Severus was grateful that he could heat the contents of the bottle to just the right temperature with a charm instead of waiting for a pan of water. He carried his burden over to the sofa, sitting in the shaft of moonlight to inspect the creature as he took the bottle eagerly. 

It was odd: Severus had bathed him, but hadn’t really looked at him. He had a few little strands of dark hair lying glossily against his head, but it wasn’t the hair that surprised him. It was the eyes. Babies were usually born with blue eyes, but not this one. His eyes were as dark as Severus’ own, black as obsidian in the moonlight. The baby blinked up at him, gaze fixed on his face even as he drank the milk Severus held. “Hello, little Robin,” Severus said quietly. “I suppose I can’t doubt your patrilineage, not with those eyes. I hope you keep your little button nose and plump cheeks; you don’t want my face.” 

Still, the child just stared up at him, barely blinking. He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t think that Severus was a freak, he wouldn’t call him names or sneer at him. “I’ll try to do a better job than my father did,” he promised Robin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that this isn’t the best situation to be born into, but I will try. I’ll teach you, and protect you, and love you. I promise I’ll try.”

Robin’s eyes began to close, his stomach full. He fell asleep over Severus’ shoulder, and Severus sat there until morning, dozing and holding the child. His son. 

  
  
  



	3. Securing the nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that this would be a fluffy sort of story, but, fair warning, this chapter is anything but fluffy. It's dark and very distressing for poor Severus.

Severus heard it as soon as he opened the door. The baby was crying: not the screams of a hurt child, but the whinging cry of a fed up one. He slammed the door behind him, scooping Robin up from his basket and soothing him, only partly effectively, with nonsense noises. He needed changing. “Annie, what’s going on?” he snapped, striding into the bathroom with the whimpering Robin cradled against his chest. 

She sat in the bottom of the shower cubicle, the water streaming down onto her head. He yanked the cord by the door that gave power to the shower, shutting it off abruptly. He glowered down at the small ball of naked, shivering woman. “He’s three weeks old, Annie! This has to stop! Your child needs you!”

“You have him. He likes you better,” Annie mumbled into her knees. 

Severus sighed, bending to pick up the towel from the floor. “Out, Annie,” he snapped, holding it out to her. “You wanted him. This is baby blues, nothing more, and listening to him cry won’t solve it. You have to get on with life. He needs changing, and feeding.”

“You do it!” she sulked. “I’ve been with him all day.”

Severus wanted to stamp his foot. “I got up at five this morning,” he snapped, “in order to review my notes on the brewing of antiseptic potions for my practical exam at nine. I then proceeded to work a six hour shift on the antenatal ward, where a woman is suffering from eclampsia, and another has dragon pox, which is contagious and highly dangerous in a pregnant woman. Then I held my first solo consultation with a witch concerned about her fertility. I have not eaten since six o'clock this morning. I am expected at a meeting in an hour, and I have come to see you. Now you tell me that you are more tired than I.”

She looked up at him, wide eyed. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “Can’t you skip the meeting, get some rest?”

“No,” Severus said with a sigh. The Dark Lord was getting… restless, and he had to ensure that no suspicion of wrongdoing fell on his head. “It is something I must do. I promised. Now, get out of the shower. You get the baby cleaned up and fed, and I shall make us some food.”

Annie finally unfolded herself from the floor of the shower with a sniffle, tucked the towel around herself (Severus found himself averting his eyes) and took Robin, still whimpering, into her arms. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I’m a rubbish mother.”

“No,” Severus said shortly. “You’re not. It’s just a big change, having a child.” He turned and left the bathroom, opening the little under-counter fridge to find something for dinner. Three slightly wrinkled apples, a block of cheese, some butter… he sighed, opening the cupboard instead. Ah. Spaghetti… He filled a pan with water. At the very least, Annie was clean: there were never dishes piling up or the bed left unmade. There were a few tins in her cupboard: he began digging through them. A motley collection: some baked beans, oxtail soup, tinned mushrooms, and tinned peaches. At the back, he found what he was looking for: tomatoes. He emptied the tin into her frying pan for lack of another cooking vessel and began to mash the tomatoes into a sauce. She had no cheese grater, but he finely chopped the orangey cheddar. Annie emerged from the bathroom wrapped in her dressing gown, and, settling on the sofa, pulled aside the fabric to feed baby Robin. At least the child had an adequate food supply, Severus mused. Hopefully she could keep feeding him for months yet, and limit the food costs. The house at Spinner’s End still hadn’t sold, and he was doubting that it ever would. Everyone who lived locally knew it too well, and he had just about given up. He had another month on the lease of his room: if the house didn’t sell by then, he’d move back in and save himself a few galleons. 

Annie was softly singing to Robin; her voice so low as to make the words indistinguishable. “Your voice is pleasant,” Severus said, feeling guilty about being so harsh with her earlier. 

“The vicar’s wife wants me to join the church choir,” she said softly. 

“Why don’t you?” he asked. It would be good for her, he thought: she needed to get out and be around other adults. Yes, he may have by far the more exhausting days, but he could see how she would hate being inside and alone all the time, waiting for his visits of perhaps an hour a day and a little longer on the weekend, when he’d taken to bringing studying to do, and Isabel’s weekly pilgrimage on a Sunday afternoon. 

“I can’t exactly take the baby,” she said. “It’s okay for the service… well, he’s slept the two times I’ve taken him, mostly. But I can’t do choir practice with him there, really.”

He carefully drained the boiling pasta water into the sink, stopping the spaghetti falling out by using the lid of the pan. “When is choir practice?” he asked.

“Wednesday evenings at seven,” she replied promptly. 

He made a noncommittal noise as he stirred the crushed tomatoes into the spaghetti. He worked wednesday evenings, but, perhaps, he could swap shifts with someone. He didn’t want to get her hopes up. “Severus?” she said quietly. 

“Yes?”

“He needs to be baptised.”

“That’s fine,” he replied. “I told you, you may do what you will regarding such matters. They do not interest me.” He dished out the spaghetti. “Is he almost finished eating?”

She moved Robin up to her shoulder to burp him following his meal. “You’re his father,” she replied. “You should be there.”

“I’m not a follower of your God.” He placed the bowls on the table with finality. “Put the baby in his crib and come and eat.”

“I’ll hold him,” she said stubbornly. 

Severus sighed. “He won’t vanish from his crib,” he explained, as if to a child. That was how he had come to think of Annie in many ways; just a child. It made him nervous, sometimes, leaving a baby in her care: how many times had the child screamed as he had this afternoon, and gone unanswered? And yet, the baby seemed healthy enough: he was putting on weight within expected parameters, and was clean. She’d agreed readily enough to having him registered with muggle healthcare services: it had taken a little bit of research on Severus’ part to get the correct paperwork. She just seemed to flip from perfect, loving mother, to scared child in an instant, and he never knew what to expect. 

“I just like to hold him,” Annie explained. 

“Fine. Just don’t drip food on him; it’s hot.” He sat and began to eat. He was too hungry to wait for Annie to situate herself and the child. She took delicate little bites, leaning forward so as to keep Robin’s downy head clean. 

“So, will you come to his Christening?” Annie pressed. 

“No.” A muscle twitched in his jaw: the Dark Mark on his arm was beginning to burn. It was earlier than he had expected. He wished it didn’t cause pain. Why would one inflict pain on loyal followers when you wished them to see you? Severus grimly reminded himself that the pain was worth it; that it was a great honour to be selected for the Dark Lord’s inner circle, especially immediately after leaving school. He was important, and he had the Dark Lord’s ear. He would be part of the return of magic.

“Sev,” she wheedled. “Imagine what it’ll be like, when he looks at photos and asks where his dad is?”

Severus clattered his fork down into his empty bowl. “You can tell him his father did not believe in fairytales,” he snapped. It still seemed slightly odd to refer to himself as a father. 

“Sev…”

He stood in a whirl of robes. “Give me the credit of my entire name, woman, not that childish nickname,” he hissed. “I am late.” A tear rolled down Annie’s cheek: he knew he should have felt guilt for upsetting her, but instead, he felt contempt. That he was allowing this muggle woman to raise his child! “Cease this blubbering, woman,” he chastised. “Take care of your child, or I shall find someone better suited to the position.”

“Severus!” she cried, but he only sneered, the pain in his arm now stabbing. He did not even leave the flat before putting the tip of his wand to his arm and apparating. 

“You’re late, Severus,” the Dark Lord drawled, lounging back in a chair. Severus looked around: the second dining room in Malfoy Manor. There were only a handful of followers there: Lucius, of course, newly made Lord Malfoy following his father’s somewhat untimely death, the Lestrange brothers, Yaxley. 

Severus dropped his head in contrition. “My apologies for the infringement on your time, my Lord,” he muttered. 

Voldemort flicked his wand point up. That was the first time Severus ever left a Death Eater meeting wracked with tremors from Cruciatus. 

It was not the last. The Dark Lord took to summoning at times when Severus was working: he was unusual amongst the Death Eaters to not have a private income, and thus, to be answerable to other masters. Severus pleased his Lord by bringing records from the hospital relating to births and deaths of magical people, and he displeased him by not responding instantly to summons. His displeasure resulted in distrust, and it was frequent that Severus felt the light pressure of a mind bearing into his.

The fact that he was naturally gifted at occlumency was not a fact he had frequently shared. Lucius did not know: he had left school by the time the talent was discovered. It had been in Severus’ OWL year, when a cheating charm had alarmed because of a clouding in his mind. A visit to Dumbledore, and it was revealed that Severus was that very rare creature: a natural occlumens. His mind could still be broken, but it took a skilled legilimens to do so, and he always knew when an attempt was made. He knew now why he’d always felt uncomfortable alone with the Headmaster: the occasions had been few, but always left him with a headache. Severus always knew when someone was trying to get in his mind. The matter was considered closed, the fact noted on his school records to prevent future examination-related mishaps. In secret, though, Severus had studied. It wasn’t enough to know when someone accessed his mind: he wanted to be able to block them.

It wasn’t so simple, he discovered. To completely block your mind was, to a legilimens, like a red light declaring that you had secrets worth protecting. And so, Severus had began a furtive study of underhandedness, of half-truths and dense webs of interconnected distortion. Now, he considered himself a good occlumens, and it was none too soon, for he had secrets to hide from his master.

Months passed. Robin was Christened, and Severus refused to attend. He took Robin for two hours every Wednesday so that Annie could attend choir practice. She began going out more, happy to be seen out with a baby now. She didn’t question where the money in the pot on top of the kitchen cupboard came from, she simply used it. He still had to mop her up every few weeks, but, as Robin never seemed to suffer ill effects, he did not pursue the matter. Annie’s health was not his concern unless it impacted on his son, he decided. It wasn’t his business to become embroiled in muggle psychiatry. Muggles would be better off under wizarding rule, he knew that. That was what he was working towards. That was why he followed his Lord: so the world could run as it should. Annie would just have to wait. He had bigger problems on his plate.

More and more, though, the Lord seemed to be turning away from his stated aims. Oh, he still declared that muggles required a wizarding overlord: after all, with the superior power and genetics of the wizards, what more could be said? But it wasn’t benevolent any more. Now, instead of ruling over them, he spoke of killing dissenters, of the natural superiority of the wizards naturally granting them ownership of the muggles. Of slavery. And something about that didn’t sit right with Severus. 

Every time the subject of muggleborn children came up, he thought uncomfortably of his son: technically quarter-blooded, or half blooded, depending on your definition, but Robin would be viewed as a muggleborn to the world. And those thoughts had to be hidden. The Dark Lord was watching for any hint of foul play, and he punished harshly. Severus wanted to be alive. Through everything; he wanted to live. Such is the human condition.

Severus entered his last year of training: by next January, he’d be a full fledged mediwizard, able to run his own practice. He hoped to have more money then. In truth, he was exhausted, usually running on five hours sleep a night and a good amount of potions to keep him alert. He began drinking coffee: he hated it, but it woke him effectively enough. Robin turned one: he was beginning to toddle, still falling over if left unsupported for more than a few steps. Annie complained that Robin was quiet: he didn’t babble so much as other babies at the group she’d been invited to, which mostly seemed to involve drinking tea in a local cafe, and comparing various baby-related anecdotes. Personally, Severus preferred a child that didn’t babble nonsensically at every moment of the day. Robin seemed perfectly happy stuffing a toy into his mouth whilst watching his father study, though the beady dark eyes fixed upon him often disconcerted Severus. 

He had his first experience of a child’s birthday party: he reluctantly accompanied Annie to the home of a friend of hers who had offered to host. He knew no one but Isabel and Lily, who arrived, kissed her godchild resoundingly on the top of his head, and, of all there, was the only one to hand her gift to Severus instead of Annie to unwrap. He was strangely touched by this. She bent close to tell him not to open it here: he correctly suspected that there was a magical element to it.

If he’d needed evidence that Lily had been visiting, here it was: a photograph album, only a quarter filled with pictures of little Robin, Annie, even a couple of Severus playing with the child on the occasions his visits and Lily’s had coincided. He hadn’t really noticed her taking photographs, but there they were, both wizarding and muggle. 

The uneasy truce between warring factions in Severus’ life came to head in the third week of September, when he was summoned one Wednesday evening as he ate with Annie before she left for choir practice. He rubbed his arm and cursed. “I have to go, Annie,” he snapped.

“But… but what about choir?” she asked. “Why do you have to go?”

“I just do! You’ll have to miss choir.” He stood, leaving a half finished plate of food before him. He bent over Robin in his seat, strapped to a dining chair, and kissed his son on the crown of his head. Robin waved a sticky hand at him, covered in goo from a banana the little boy had been happily mashing. Severus carefully grasped it by the small wrist to avoid having the fruit mushed into his clothing. 

“Severus, I don’t understand,” Annie pressed. “Where do you go so suddenly? Is it work?”

“In a manner,” he told her. The ache in his arm was increasing: the Lord wanted a quick response. He gathered his cloak from where it was folded on the arm of the sofa: his mask was tucked into an inner pocket, transfigured into a medallion that Severus could easily claim as a lucky charm. He was not so foolish as to allow a Death Eater mask to appear on his person. He left her still asking questions.

The Dark Lord was pacing when Severus arrived in a small wood, already masked and cloaked. A glance showed him two others already there. He bowed deeply, then sunk to his knee before Voldemort. He felt the cold brush of the man’s mind against his own, but for Severus, slipping on the mask came with ordering his mind, sending all memory of his child, of Lily, now married, of Annie, to the back of his mind. “My Lord,” he muttered, keeping his head low. 

“Take your place, Severus.” The voice from within the deep hood was slightly sibilant: high, commanding, frustrated, but the impression Severus received from the mental touch was not one of particular anger, more frustrated, pent up energy. Severus rose, his head still bowed, and backed himself towards where Lucius stood. He was masked and cloaked as well, of course, but he knew his friend and mentor in pureblood society. Lucius’ regal bearing was enough, even without the silvery glint of hair within his hood. Lucius infinitesimally inclined his head in greeting. In silence, they waited. Two more apparated, knelt to offer their greeting and subservience. After the second (McNair, Severus thought, a man only recently raised to the inner circle) had risen from his knee, their leader turned,  gliding out from beneath the trees, his robes barely fluttering about his feet. With ease of practice, his five followers fell into place behind him. Severus wondered why they were here, so few of them? This was no revel or meeting, this was a team gathered for some purpose. Severus looked around through the slits of his mask. The area they were in was rural: there was a barn to his left, a solid stone-built house to the front. Was this a new meeting place? He tried to convince himself of this, but the heaviness in his heart told him otherwise. 

Their Lord reached the front doorstep before turning on the spot, causing his duckling line of followers to halt abruptly. “This house,” he hissed, “contains traitors. A pureblood woman, defouling herself, her body, her bloodlines, with muggle men… we must stamp out this behaviour, make an example of those who sully the purity of magic, dilute power in such a way.”

There was a faint ripple of agreement amongst the gathered followers, nothing more than a whisper of wind through trees. Severus tried to control his breathing, slow his beating heart. This seemed too close to his own situation. No. He couldn’t think about that now. He strode forward in step with Lucius as the Dark Lord blasted open the door. No subtle entrances for him. A child started to scream. 

Severus wanted to block his ears, to run away, anything, but a glance at Lucius showed not even a flicker in his ramrod straight posture. Severus had to follow Lucius’ lead. He couldn’t think. Just follow. Follow… follow… he dogged Lucius’ footsteps down a hallway and into a kitchen.

There was more than one child crying now, an older child whimpered in the corner. A man shouted at Severus’ left, the Lord raised his wand. The word fell easily from his lips, the  _ crucio _ as easy to him as breathing. The man- tall, blond- crumpled to the ground, spine arched painfully. His mouth was opened in a soundless scream. He lost control of his bladder, a common enough side effect of cruciatus.

Severus twitched his robes away from the man in rictus. He looked away distastefully. He could see a metal filling in the man’s tooth. The Lord laughed: it was probably a chuckle, but sounded wrong: grating, almost. “No taste for torture, healer?” the Lord taunted. Severus winced, though the unconscious gesture was invisible behind the silvery mask. It was not unusual for jibes to be poked at his chosen profession. 

He controlled his voice. He had to control his reaction. “No taste for muggles, my Lord,” he replied. 

The black-cloaked king threw back his head and barked out a laugh. “We’ll train you yet, boy,” he declared. His voice hardened, though, when he called, “Woman! Stop cowering, come out and see to your mudblood children!”

There was no response. The Dark Lord flickered his head towards the door to the rest of the house. “Avery. McNair. Find her. She’s here somewhere. I can sense her magic, sense her mind.”

The two Death eaters peeled off from their companions, splitting without verbal plans, one searching downstairs, and the other’s footsteps treading heavily up the wooden stairs. The Dark Lord finally twitched his wand towards the man, ending the cruciatus. He lay shaking on the floor, muscles twitching and tensing. Severus knew that he would seize soon, losing consciousness. He wouldn’t survive it without medical attention, not after so long a curse. He would die anyway. He felt more sorrow for the children being here: a small boy of about six cramped beneath the kitchen table, in the corner, and a little girl, her hair in soft blonde pigtails, about the age of Robin, her face crimson with screams and cries. She didn’t understand. 

There was a cry of victory from upstairs, and a harsh, wailing sob. In moments, McNair was dragging a tiny, delicate woman down the stairs. “Hiding under the bed,” McNair explained with delight. “What do you want doing with her, my Lord?” He held out an unfamiliar wand; the Lord took it distastefully between thumb and forefinger.

The snap of the wood echoed through the room. “You do not deserve to carry a wand.” The Dark Lord removed his mask, pushing back his hood. His dark hair was thinning, his skin waxy with age and the potions he used to try to keep his youth. He leered down at the woman, cowering with fear. “Filthy blood traitor,” he hissed. “Sullying yourself, allowing some muggle to touch you… carrying the children of muggles, diluting your magic. You don’t deserve mercy.” He held his wand to her face. “ _ Legilimens _ ,” he muttered, and the woman’s whimper rose to a scream as he plundered her mind. 

“Yes,” he muttered after a minute. “Yes, you will do well. McNair, bind her tight. She will be our entertainment for the night. It is too long since we held a revel. This pathetic excuse for a woman believed that we could not kill children; that we would not kill her children, so if she hid, she would be safe. She was wrong.” 

Beside Severus, the man was fitting wildly. Blood bubbled from his mouth: he’d bitten his tongue. Severus itched to turn him, stop him choking to death on his own blood and spittle, but he could not. He took a delicate step to the side, making a show of keeping the hem of his robes from the mess. A stink rose as the man gurgled out last attempts at breath. 

The Dark Lord turned towards the child beneath the table. He crouched, as if to welcome the little one. He grinned, his teeth sharp. He raised his wand once more. “ _ Avada Kedavra _ .”

A flash of green, the smallest gasp from the child, and his body slumped against the wall. The mother screamed, her voice hoarse, her words indistinct. Lucius silenced her with a simple spell. 

The Dark Lord slipped his mask back into place, drawing the heavy cowl of his hood up about his face again. He tucked his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe. “Severus. Be so good as to dispose of the brat,” he commanded (for, no matter how it was worded, a command it was) as he nodded towards the red faced child strapped into a high chair. 

“My Lord?” Severus asked, a note of confusion in his voice.

“Kill the child, Severus.”

Severus stared at the child in incomprehension. “My Lord,” he ventured, “this child need not die. It is young, my Lord. Take it. Raise it to our ways. You build an empire, my Lord: you need those to serve it.”

The face, masked in heavy silver, turned fully towards him, along with every other Death Eater. “You grow too fond of your profession, Severus,” the Dark Lord sneered. “As you are saving so many lives, have you not stopped to think of the worthiness of those lives? A lily-livered healer is no use to me. Kill the child.”

Severus couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. Slowly, he raised his wand to the squalling child, his arm trembling. Oh, gods, how could he do this? 

With a frustrated growl, the Dark Lord knocked his arm away. With utter disdain, he muttered the words to the killing curse. The flash again, the tiny slumped body. Severus let out a surprised gasp. 

Strong fingers wrapped around his upper arm, yanking him around. “You are weak, Snape. Do you truly deserve my patronage?” the Lord hissed, before snapping out, “ _ Crucio _ !”

Every muscle in Severus’ body locked, only the tension keeping him almost upright. After an eternity of seconds, the curse broke, the sudden laxity causing him to drop. The Lord prodded at the abused body of his follower. “Think on your position, Severus,” he intoned. “I am displeased.” He turned away. “Avery. Torch the dwelling. Rowle, put up the Mark.”

“My Lord.” Lucius’ voice was satin edged with darkness. “Shall we not remove Snape?”

“Let the flames test him. If he gets out under his own power, he will live,” the Dark Lord replied archly, almost bored. “If not… well, then he is no great loss.”

Severus’ mind was blank as he lay, delicately twitching. He heard the crackle of flames, but it wasn’t until he could feel the heat that he stumbled to his feet, looked about. Three dead… it would be four by the end of the revel. He felt sick thinking about the tiny child, swallowing bile and keeping his face turned away. Maybe he should let himself burn…

Robin. Little bright eyed Robin. He had to make sure this never happened to his child. Only that thought gave him the determination to summon his strength and turn, apparating away. 

He wasn’t really thinking as he went. He had no destination in mind: just away, away from all this, away from the dead, away from the flames licking at the table, away from the madman that could commit this. 

The evening air was cool as he thumped to the ground, too exhausted for anything else. Slowly, he opened his eyes, looking around him. Trembling fingers rose to pull his mask from his face, tucking it inside his robes.

Why? Why, he wondered, was he here, at the gates of Hogwarts? Of all the places his addled mind could have taken him, why here? Shakily, he stood, reaching for the heavy wrought iron of the gates, cool beneath his hands. He felt the tickle of magic, wards, most likely. He’d never touched the gates before… he laid his head down against one of the curlicues, the metallic smell harsh in his nose. 

“Who’s there?” a voice called. Severus looked up absently. The gamekeeper, the giant. Hagrid. Yes, Hagrid, that was his name.

“Hello,” he said stupidly. 

The giant bent to look into his face. “I know you,” he declared. “You left school not so long back, di’n’t you?”

“That’s right,” Severus drawled, not willing to let go of the gate yet. 

Hagrid grunted. “Stay there,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

Severus muttered that he had no intention of going anywhere, but he spoke to nothingness. The giant had already gone, his stride swallowing the ground to his little hut. Absently, Severus wondered why such a large man had such a small house. How big a bed did the gamekeeper need, he mused? His fingers began to uncurl from the gate, his muscles no longer so tense. He slid down to the grass. Just a few minutes… a few minutes rest. Then he’d go, go and sleep it off... 

There was a creak as the left hand gate opened a few metres. Severus’ head snapped up. “Good evening, Severus. What brings you here?” Dumbledore asked. He was followed by Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid. 

“See, Pr’fessor, I told you he weren’t looking too good,” Hagrid said. 

“Yes, thank you, Hagrid,” Dumbledore agreed mildly. 

Severus was staring up at him, wide eyed, in a mixture of panic and… was that hope? Dumbledore… the sworn enemy of the Dark Lord… the muggle lover… the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, dedicated to the sole task of the destruction of the Dark Lord… “I need your help,” he rasped. 

Madam Pomfrey’s cool fingers grasped his chin. He met her gaze. He liked Madam Pomfrey. “What happened to you, Severus?” she asked gently.

“Cruciatus,” he replied easily, though his voice still caught in his throat. “And smoke damage, I believe.” 

She was clearly shocked, but her voice didn’t betray it. “I have potions that can help,” she promised. “Hagrid, may we use your floo again, please?”

And so, Severus found himself back in the hospital wing of Hogwarts school, ushered up onto a bed in a side room. He was sure he was leaving soot and dirt on the freshly laundered sheets, but Madam Pomfrey simply uncorked a selection of vials, handing him one after the other, watching him sternly as he downed them. He recognised muscle relaxants, cleansing potions, brews to soothe the damage in his throat, and a calming potion, along with a pain reliever. Dumbledore settled himself a chair behind the bed, and when Madam Pomfrey had gathered the empty bottles, she let herself out, leaving the old man and the young man together. “Now then,” the Headmaster asked. “What is it that I can help you with?” 

Severus’ thoughts were jumbled. Where to begin? Gingerly,  his muscles still sore, he shrugged off his voluminous outer robes and unbuttoned his shirt cuff. He didn’t have to roll it far to reveal the stark black stain of the dark mark.

Dumbledore looked at him almost kindly. “Do you think to threaten me, young man?” he asked.

“No,” Severus replied flatly. “I made a terrible mistake, and I need help to turn from this path.”

“Tell me,” Dumbledore suggested.

Haltingly, Severus choked out the tale: the summoning, entering the house, the death of the muggle man, the children, the woman’s kidnap for later murder… “I couldn’t,” he whispered. “I couldn’t kill that child.”

“You must understand,” Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair, “you must see, that it is not so simple. I am not able to remove such a mark as this; I am not able to shield you from the whims of the master to whom you swore your very life. How, pray, can I even tell that you are not sent to spy upon me, or to do me harm?”

“I am not. I… I have my reasons,” Severus spat out. “There are things far more precious to me than the Death Eaters, and I will do anything to protect them.” 

He felt the bearing down of Dumbledore’s mind on his. He growled in frustration. “I will tell you what you want to know,” he snapped. “Just get out of my head!”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised in surprise, his forehead crinkling deeply. “Surely you understand that I cannot simply trust the word of a marked Death Eater? The man to whom you swore your allegiance shows little by the way of sportsmanship.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Severus growled. “Did you not listen? I cannot do this anymore, I cannot murder children! I will tell you what you need to know, I will declare it under veritaserum if it makes you happy, just  _ stay out of my head _ !”

“Why now?” Dumbledore asked. “You come to me now? Why? That is what I cannot comprehend. What changed your mind?”

Severus dug his nails into his palms. It went against everything he’d been doing for two years now, but it truly was the best way to explain, to get Dumbledore to trust him. Dumbledore was headmaster of a school, surely he valued children? “I have a son,” he said quietly. “His mother is a muggle woman. He is a year and a half old. I’ve been hiding him from everyone… no one knows. The Dark Lord can never know. How can I kill a child when my own…” he couldn’t say anymore, and he realised he was crying. Angrily, his swiped the hot tears away. A grown man, crying! A Death Eater… crying? How pathetic.

Dumbledore didn’t comment on the angry tears. He sat in silence, staring at the wall as if he were mulling over a problem. Eventually he asked, “your son. What is his name?”

“Robin,” Severus admitted with poor grace. 

“A very sweet name,” Dumbledore replied. “Not one I would have expected from a former Slytherin, though.”

“His mother chose it.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore steepled his hands before his face, his elbows braced on the arms of his chair. “I may have a plan which could benefit both of us,” he said. “Tell me, Severus, what have you been doing with your life since you left Hogwarts?”

“I’m in training to become a healer,” Severus replied. “I have three months left, and I shall be a mediwizard and a midwife.”

“A midwife?” Dumbledore parroted, his surprise obvious. “How… unusual.”

Severus glared at him. “Magic is declining,” he snapped. “Magical births are becoming harder and harder, magical pregnancies more and more unusual. I wish to find out why.”

“So,” Dumbledore said mildly, “you do not attribute it to the influx of muggle blood, like your… playmates?”

Severus sneered. “I do not know the cause. That is why I wish to research it. What is this plan of yours?”

“Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. “I have need of a Potions master,” he began. “Professor Slughorn retired at the end of the last year, and we are almost a month into the new school year, with not a single applicant.”

“You want  _ me _ to teach?” Severus said, astounded.He hadn’t come here looking for a job. He’d come looking for some way to extricate himself from the camp of the Dark Lord.

“I seem to recall that you were unusually gifted in the subject. One of the highest NEWT results the school has ever seen, as a matter of fact. You were not only top in your year, you were the top student in the last fifty years.”

Severus hadn’t known that: he’d had an O, of course, but that was quite expected. “I won’t finish training until January,” he said. “I had intended to go into practice, probably at St. Mungo’s for a bit, then trying to set up my own practice… I had never intended to teach.”

“But you need to protect your child,” Dumbledore said. “I can help you. I am well connected in the wizarding world. I can hide your child from magical eyes, shield him from suspicion when he comes to Hogwarts, register him under a different name…”

“He already has a different name. He’s registered under his mother’s name,” Severus pointed out. 

Dumbledore nodded sagely. He was secretly impressed. “Here is the deal, Severus. You will become the Hogwarts Potions professor. I will ensure that the subject of your son is hidden at the ministry. I will give you the resources you need to make his place of residence unplottable, give him the best protective spells that can be managed.”

“And you’ll protect me from the Dark Lord?” Severus confirmed. 

“Oh, no, dear boy. You misunderstand. I will give you the chance to redeem your soul from the atrocities you have committed. You will feed information about him back to me, to the Order of the Phoenix. You will be instrumental in the downfall of Tom Riddle. In addition, your new position will seem pleasing to him… as far as he is concerned, you are now a spy for him.”

“I would be killed if I were found out!” Severus hissed. 

“You court death each time you displease him in any case, dear boy. Make yourself indispensable to him, or your son will almost certainly be orphaned.”

Severus dropped off the high infirmary bed. He wandered to the window. How had things changed so fast? “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t give up everything. I can’t… I can’t go back there.”

“You must,” Dumbledore replied.

“Why? Why is there no other way?” He turned, leaned against the wall to face his former Professor.

“Because, if you do not begin teaching on Monday morning, you will find your precious child… mysteriously vanished, and your indiscretions with a muggle lover revealed to your master.”

Severus’ heart plummeted. “Are you… blackmailing me?” he whispered.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in grandfatherly fashion. “Oh, that is such an ugly word, Severus. No, I am simply offering you an opportunity… a rewarding career, a good salary to support your son, all the perks of a member of Hogwarts staff… I am sure, when little Robin is older, you will enjoy having school holidays free to spend with him? And it would be such a shame to lose such an intellect as yours, Severus. You can help to rid the world of this menace for good. You can be the lynchpin, the saviour of the wizarding world.”

Severus pressed hard against the rough stone wall, trusting it to keep him upright, light-headed as he was. He’d come here for help! “I can’t start on Monday,” he whispered. “I do not finish my training until January.”

Dumbledore waved away the concern airily. “Mediwizard training is not necessary for the position,” he replied. “You have two days to inform your teachers that you will not be continuing.”

Severus breathed heavily, Dumbledore reclining, relaxed, in his chair. “Your answer?” he pressed. “It would be a shame indeed to lose you.. So young… so much potential…”

“You’re no better than he is!” Severus snapped. 

Dumbledore laid a hand over his heart. “You wound me,” he said sincerely. “I am offering you everything, Severus… a secure career, safety for your family, the opportunity to destroy that which you hate... even the perfect apology to your former master. Just swear fealty to me, take my offer…”

“Why Potions, if we are to please the Dark Lord? GIve me the Defence position!”

Dumbledore shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “No, Severus. That is too much temptation.”

“And where on my body will you brand your phoenix?” Severus spat.

Dumbledore was smiling benignly. He had won: he could see it in Severus’ face, hear it in his desperation. Severus had made his choice: not that he had much of an option. “Nothing so crass, dear boy. A wizard’s oath to serve me will do quite nicely. I will instruct you in the wording.”

And so, it came to be that Severus Snape swore to protect the interests of the Order of the Phoenix until the threat of the Dark Lord was neutralised, the promise rooted in his own magic. And, not half an hour later, he pressed his wand to the dark mark on his own arm. There was a revel tonight, he’d felt the itching burn that meant a general summons. 

He kept only his half-truths in his thoughts as he whiled through the squeezing blackness of apparition, ready for that moment of impact.

He heard the laughter, the calls of high spirits, the moment he landed in the antechamber. He did not bother to re-mask: masks were not worn at revels. He looked around: the Parkinson mansion, he was reasonably certain. He followed the sounds of revelry to the next room. 

A bloodied, broken body lay on a marble table to his left; he averted his eyes. It was to his right that his destination lay: the Dark Lord, seated on a chair transfigured to be a heavy throne. He dropped to his knees, prostrated himself on the cold marble floor at the Dark lord’s feet.

“Severus.” His voice was cold, displeased. “You return so soon? Alas, the flames did not harm you…”

Severus gulped reflexively. Raising his head only enough to be sure that he could be heard, he began his hastily rehearsed speech. “I displeased you, my Lord. I was weak, I thought of myself, and not of the glory of your leadership. I wish to make amends, my Lord.”

“Continue.” 

“I wish to give you information on your greatest enemy. I have sought a position as teacher at Hogwarts school. I have convinced Albus Dumbledore, old fool that he is, that I am repented of my association with you, your Lordship. In return, he has promised to take me into his pathetic Order of the Phoenix. I did this, my Lord, so that I could bring you information…”

The Lord began to laugh: not a warm sound. Severus was tense, waiting for the strike of a curse, even death, but nothing came. “Rise, Severus,” the Dark Lord commanded. He was rifling through Severus’ thoughts: he saw a meeting between Dumbledore and Severus, but one where Severus had the upper hand, where there was no mention of Robin, where Dumbledore was pathetically grateful, praised him for his turncoat ways… the Lord laughed again. “Such a trusting old fool,” he chuckled. “You are redeemed, Severus. I am pleased that you have ceased this harebrained scheme of healing. You are more useful by far as spy.”

Severus stayed silent, still bent to the floor. “Get up, man. Get a drink.”

Barely controlling his shaking, Severus rose. “Thank you, my Lord. Your generosity knows no bounds.” 

Two hours later, Severus extricated himself. He let himself into Annie’s flat as quietly as he could. She was sitting up in bed, reading. She looked up in surprise. “Severus!”

He said nothing. He strode to the end of her bed, where Robin slept in a chipped, third-hand crib. He reached down, picking up the sleepy, soap-scented body of his son, heavy with sleep. Robin whimpered, waking slightly, but Severus shushed him, tucking the little head into the crook of his neck and holding the child tight. 

Annie was out of bed. “What’s going on?” she asked, confused. “Severus… you smell like smoke. You smell like you’ve been by a bonfire.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Severus croaked, clutching Robin to him. “I have dealt with everything.”


	4. The cuckoo parent

Minerva McGonagall held her shoulders back and her head firmly upright as she apparated to Cokeworth. Severus Snape had only been teaching three months, and he had the audacity to say he couldn’t make it to work? She’d told Albus that it was a foolish idea to hire a teacher so young, and so closely connected to He-who-must-not-be-named. She was quite sure that the young man wasn’t trustworthy, and here, here was proof!

She checked the address on the scrap of parchment, and looked up at the house. Ramshackle, she thought, with pursed lips. The boy couldn’t even be trusted to keep up a house, so what was he doing teaching? Her Gryffindors already disliked him intensely. In the anger of the moment, she forgot that she’d told them, and quite rightly, that just because they were kept in order in lessons didn’t mean he was a bad teacher… quite the opposite. Minerva was forgetting a lot of things in her annoyance at having to supervise a third year potions class in her free lesson. She’d forgotten that she’d actually been in favour of Albus’ decision to hire the young man: he was excellent at potions, though a little young. She pushed open the creaking gate and strode smartly up the overgrown path to rap sharply on the door. 

What was that odd noise she could hear? There was no answer to her knock, just an odd whining noise. Was Severus Snape torturing cats in there? She would almost not be surprised. She raised her hand to knock smartly once again.

By the third time of knocking, her patience had run out. “Severus Snape, if you do not answer this door, I shall knock it down,” she called. She was about to carry out her threat, pulling her wand from the pocket of her cloak, when the door swung open.

Minerva openly goggled. There stood Severus, glowering down at her, as lank as ever. It was not him that surprised her: it was the child squirming in Severus’ arms, red faced and crying. “Severus…” she began.

He cut her off. “You’d better come in,” he declared, stepping to the side so she could enter. He glanced out into the street before he shut the door, but, of course, no one was there. Spinner’s End was down by the murky river, too far out of town to be lucrative, and the other houses on the road had long since fallen derelict. It was mostly spellwork that kept it standing and stopped the roof from leaking. Much.

“What is the meaning of this, Severus?” Minerva asked sharply. “Who is this child?”

Severus sighed deeply, bouncing Robin on his hip. The child was inconsolable. “I think you’d better sit down,” he said. “It’s a long story.” He waved her through to the kitchen. Once there, he deposited Robin into the playpen he’d transfigured from a couple of kitchen chairs, filled with a blanket and a collection of bright blocks. The child shrieked, smashing a block off the floor in frustration.

“Is he… alright?” Minerva questioned shakily. She was unused to very young children, never having had any herself. Usually, her nieces and nephews and their children were handed to her warm, fed and happy for a cuddle, not like this scarlet-faced toddler with tear tracks on his cheeks.

“He misses his mother. Do you want tea?” Severus snapped, not incredibly hospitable. At least he had a real pay packet coming in now, and he could eat at the school, so things were not so desperate, and he could be sure of having tea and sugar and milk and even a packet of biscuits to offer Minerva. 

“Oh… yes. Tea would be lovely. Severus… is he…  _ yours _ ?” Minerva asked, staring in fascination at the child. His screams slowly fading, he stared back. He hiccoughed, and started crying.

Minerva sat. She didn’t remove her outdoor cloak: Severus didn’t blame her. He was wrapped in thick robes, and Robin was swaddled in layers. It wasn’t warm; and the kitchen was by far the warmest room in the house. Severus filled the kettle and put it to heat. He supposed he should be grateful that Dumbledore hadn’t shared news of Robin, even with the assistant headmistress. “He is,” he confirmed. “His name is Robin.”

“But, Severus, a child?”

Severus reached down into the playpen to hand Robin a digestive. The little boy looked up at him, tears still brimming in his eyes though he stopped shrieking at the sight of the biscuit. “Milk?” he asked lispily.

“In a minute,” Severus informed him. He turned to place the packet of biscuits on the table. “I suppose,” he said to Minerva, “Professor Dumbledore did not mention that I have a child.”

It was not a question, but Minerva had plenty of those. “Who is his mother, Severus?  _ Where _ is his mother?”

“An excellent question,” Severus replied smoothly, filling a lidded cup with spell-warmed milk for Robin. “I have no idea where she is. I arrived at her home yesterday evening, as is my custom, to discover Robin completely alone. I spent the night there, awaiting her return, but this morning was compelled to relocate here so I could send a floo message informing Professor Dumbledore that I would be unable to work today, as I had no one else to take care of the child.”

“But who is she, Severus?” Minerva pressed. “I still don’t understand.”

“A muggle woman,” he admitted. “Robin’s conception was something of a… mistake.”

“Are you married?”

“No,” Severus replied shortly. “Annie lives with Robin, I visit each day. It is a system which works for us. Until that is, she vanishes without trace. I do not know when she will return, and thus, when I will be able to return to work.” He set a chipped mug full or tea down before Minerva, and bent to pick up Robin before seating himself. The boy seemed less upset when being held. Robin, his toddler hands full with his cup of milk, watched Minerva warily. She looked back, openly fascinated. “To what do I owe your visit, Professor?” Severus queried sharply over a new grizzle from Robin as he stared at the unfamiliar visitor. 

Minerva looked away from Robin’s dark eyes as if pulled from hypnotism. “Oh,” she said. “Yes.” From within her robes, she pulled a shrunken tartan shopping bag. “The homework you set the third years, and also the fifth years. We were unable to cover the fifth or seventh year classes, so they were cancelled.

Severus sighed. He felt guilty. He knew that he should have been there. He needed to keep a rein on his classes: he was still too new to allow them leeway. He remembered what Hogwarts students were like, very clearly: the current seventh years, after all, have been fourth years when he had left. Robin, sleepy now that his stomach was full of warm milk, blinked sleepily up at Severus. “Mama?” he asked. 

“Soon,” he told the child. “Sleep, Robin.” He looked up at Minerva. “He has been too upset to take his usual midday sleep. It is not contributing well to his mood, I think.” He gently pressed Robin’s nodding head down into the crook of his elbow: the crying, the surprise of a visitor: it had all become too much for the toddler. He sunk into sleep. The child was too big to sleep in his arms like this, Severus thought, but he didn’t want to risk waking him.

“How old is he?” Minerva asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the newfound quiet.

“Two next month,” Severus replied absently, leaning forwards to flick through the essays. “Forgive me if I keep holding him; he tends to wake if he’s moved.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Minerva assured him. “I wouldn’t dream of waking him.” She was looking around: Severus couldn’t miss the appraising glances she was giving the room. The charms and glamours he’d lain on in a vain attempt to sell the place had all failed: it was as dismal as he could ever remember it. He spent very little time here now; eating and marking at the school or at Annie’s, now. It was a shame that it was no longer standard for all the professors at Hogwarts to receive their own living quarters. Most, it appeared, did not want to live at the school in any case. Minerva ceased her inspection of the peeling wallpaper to turn flinty eyes back to him. “Does the bairn’s mother often vanish?” she asked.

“Never before,” he replied heavily. “She dotes upon him. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of. She is prone to fits of melancholy… I worry that perhaps, she has succumbed to one, done something to harm herself…”

Minerva shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “What will you do if… if the worst has happened?” She couldn’t quite bear to speak the word ‘death’ before the child, even a sleeping child.

Severus used the hand that wasn’t full of Robin to rake his fingers through his hair. “Find someone to take care of him, pay someone. Two years ago, I would probably have had no problem with the notion of handing him over to the muggle authorities and never looking back, but… he’s my child. He relies on me.”

Minerva nodded absently. “Severus, this place is disgusting,” she declared. “It’s freezing, it’s filthy… it’s no place for a child.”

“I am aware of that,” he replied, his tone barbed. “I am not stupid. Robin does not usually stay here; I merely did not wish to leave him alone whilst I had to be here. I have potions brewing, and I needed to floo the Headmaster.” He stroked Robin’s soft baby hair: it was silky and almost reached the boy’s shoulders: Annie was as reluctant to cut it as Severus. His hair was beautiful, curls as fine as dandelion fluff and rich chocolatey brown with a sheen like oil on water, a far richer colour than the wings of the bird that gave him his name. “I am not the best of fathers, Professor. I am only twenty-one. I know I am young, but my child is the only good thing to have come from my life. I will do anything I can for him”

Minerva shook her head sadly. She rose from her chair, examining the room. “It was not my intention to berate your parenting,” she informed him, not unkindly. “I wish to help, Severus. Even without a child, this is not a fit place for you to live. You will have chills and colds all year round, and I can tell that you have no money for repairs, because you are supporting young Robin. No. I may have a solution.”

“What?” Severus asked mistrustfully. He was wary of ‘solutions’- Dumbledore ‘offering’ him the job of Potions master was billed as a ‘solution’. 

Minerva tapped her wand against a wandering crack in the wall, knitting it together with an odd grinding sound. “Septimus Vector has been head of Slytherin for two years. However, he and his wife wish to start a family, and become non-residential staff. He’s asked to be replaced as head of house as soon as possible, but he is the only former Slytherin on staff at this time… except you. He was delighted to hear that you would be joining the staff, but Albus told him that you would not be ready for the responsibility.” She paused, leaning against the dingy counter, and appraised Severus with calculating eyes. He met her gaze. “I can see now,” she continued, “that you can be trusted with the welfare of children. Your son clearly adores you, and you care for him well. Unlike this house, he is clean, and he appears healthy and well-fed. The position comes with rooms in the castle, and a small additional stipend: some five galleons a month. All meals, of course, are included. If necessary, your child could live with you, and be taken to a childminder, and, later, school in Hogsmeade, during teaching hours. It is not without precedent. He would have to be largely confined to your rooms during term-time, of course.”

Severus mulled over the idea, idly chewing his lower lip, his hooded eyes downcast, looking at his boots, which were developing a hole in the sole. “Robin is something of a secret,” he admitted. “There are those who would harm him, if they knew of him.”

Minerva moved back to the table, pulling her chair a little closer to Severus’. She leaned forward. “I am a high ranking member of the Order of the Phoenix, Severus. I know the bargain you struck with Albus. I know what you are.”

“Do you really?” Severus asked dismissively. Did she know that Dumbledore had blackmailed him? How could she, when she didn’t know the hold Dumbledore had over him, the safety of the sleeping child in his arms?

“I know that you were a follower of He-who-must-not-be-named. I know that you have turned to the light, and if Albus trusts you, then so do I.”

Severus privately wondered if that was wise. Dumbledore, in his opinion, was not a man to be trusted. Severus had no choice, but he’d learned his lesson. Should he trust McGonagall? “You are sure there would be no problems raised with my son living at the castle?” he confirmed. “I need to make sure that his existence is not widely known. The Dark Lord is unaware of him.”

“So long as he remains in your rooms, the students need never know of his presence,” Minerva assured him. “As a head of house, you would have a working floo to deliver him to childminders, or to school, later on. If necessary, you could claim him as an orphaned cousin, perhaps? Being halfblood, few will care enough about your muggle heritage to check the veracity of your claim.”

He nodded slowly. “It is a possibility,” he agreed. “A fair idea, in fact.” The Dark Lord would still not like a muggle relative, but they news would be less likely to spread. “You are sure I am capable of head of house duties?”

McGonagall smiled tightly. “You are sitting with a child asleep in your arms, Severus. It is an image so incongruous I had never even thought to imagine it. You care far more than you allow us to believe. You will be a good head of house. And if you discover that you dislike it… well. We shall find someone else for the position. Head of Slytherin has always been a difficult position to fill: so few Slytherins go on to teach. Head of Ravenclaw, now, that is an easier job entirely.” She patted his hand with her bony one. 

He nodded slowly. It would be a great relief not to have to spend another winter at Spinner’s End, not to have to cook, even at weekends… 

“Excellent,” McGonagall declared. “I shall discuss it with Septimus to see how best to hand over, and make sure you have enough support.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, little more than a whisper as he kept his gaze fixed on Robin, the soft eyelashes resting against still-flushed cheeks. 

Minerva stood, tucking her chair neatly back beneath his kitchen table. “Thank you for the tea, Severus. I will see you tomorrow.”

Severus looked up. “I can’t leave Robin alone,” he reminded her.

“I know that,” Minerva replied. “Bring him with you. Poppy will probably be more than happy to take care of him for a day or two.”

Severus hadn’t felt grateful to anyone in a long time, not in the way he felt grateful to the dour Scotswoman before him. “I think we could be friends, you and I, Severus,” she said.

He made a noncommittal noise. Besides Lily, he didn’t think he’d ever really had a friend. To people like Lucius… well, to the outside world they might appear to be friends, but powerful men like Lucius didn’t have friends, they had allies, and Severus was intelligent and magically powerful enough to be a useful ally. Minerva pursed her lips. “I shall see myself out,” she said. “And I expect you to be present in your classroom for first lesson tomorrow.”

“Yes, Professor,” he sighed. 

“Minerva will be fine,” she informed him tartly. “Until tomorrow, Severus.”

“Tomorrow, Minerva,” he responded, the familiar name feeling odd on his lips. 

She left the room, and he heard the front door open, but not close. He sighed. Had she really not closed the door behind her? He was about to get up to do it when she called back, “You have another visitor, Severus.”

“What?” he snapped, standing too quickly. He disturbed Robin, waking him and causing a whimper as Severus strode through to the hall. Severus cursed under his breath: getting the child back to sleep would be a nightmare. 

Annie. Oh, Merlin, Annie was on his doorstep. Sleepy, whingey Robin immediately crowed in delight. Severus tried to not to feel resentful as he set the little boy carefully on the floor, letting him toddle over to Annie and wrap his little arms about her legs. “Annie, where in Salazar’s own name have you been?” Severus demanded. Minerva, knowing that she was no longer needed here, slipped past Annie, and behind her, Isabel, clutching a set of car keys. Walking to the end of the garden path, she checked for witnesses. Isabel was watching her, so she walked around the corner before apparating away. 

“Where have you been?” Severus demanded of Annie, now crouched to cuddle Robin. He towered over her, and used his full height in an attempt to intimidate her. It failed. “You were away all night!”

“Here and there. I needed a break,” Annie said quietly, smiling happily at Robin.. 

“Here and there?” he parroted furiously. “Annie, you left a child alone, unattended- my child! You can’t do that! He’s two years old, Annie!”

Annie seemed utterly unfazed by his fury. She picked up Robin and wandered into the kitchen in the house she’d visited only once, somehow seeming to know her way around. “Let’s get you some milk, dearest,” she crooned. 

“He’s just had some,” Severus growled, but Annie didn’t even seem to hear him. 

His face contorted in frustration, Severus glared at Isabel. She held up her hands, keys dangling from one finger. “Don’t look at me. She showed up at my place whilst I was at work; I found her camped out on the doorstep. First thing I did was drive her straight home. We saw your note, so I stopped to get us something to eat on the way here, but other than that, I haven’t been keeping her.”

“Then where the hell was she?” Severus spat. “How did she get to yours?”

Isabel shrugged. “No idea,” she said. “She won’t say. Look, she needs help. She seems to have no idea why leaving Robin alone was a bad thing… it’s like she thinks he deosn’t exist when she’s not there. She needs to see a doctor, Sev. Her brain’s not wired right.”

“I know,” Severus sighed. He’d been avoiding the problem for far too long, blaming it on scatterbrainedness, or post-partum depression, or lack of adult company, but it was clear that Annie simply couldn’t cope. She seemed utterly unrepentant, and didn’t seem to understand the severity of leaving such a small child completely alone. 

“Do you have someone who can look after Robin if she can’t?” Isabel asked quietly. 

“There are… possibilities,” he admitted. He hoped that it didn’t come to that, but if his son was in danger of neglect, it was his duty.


	5. Going North for the Summer

“Abra Kadabra!” the child crowed waving a stick about as he ran in the scrubby little patch  of lawn.

The colour drained from Severus’ face. “Robin,” he growled. 

The little boy stopped, looking back over his shoulder at Severus, sitting on the steps to the tiny patio in the late afternoon light.

“Come here,” Severus said sternly, pointing to the ground before him. Slowly, dragging his little feet, Robin came. Severus took the stick from him, letting it fall to the ground. “I never, ever want to hear those words from you again,” he hissed. “Do you understand me?”

Robin nodded, his big eyes threatening tears. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” he whispered.

“Severus, you’re scaring him,” Annie said, appearing from the back door. “What’s the problem if he says some nonsense?”

Severus looked at the contrite little boy before him. Was he old enough to know? He’d be starting school in just a fortnight, proper school, not the little playgroup Annie had taken him to two mornings a week. The miniature school uniform was purchased and hanging neatly in the wardrobe. But yet, he still looked like a infant to Severus: a solemn little toddler, all baby hair and round, soft limbs. If it weren’t for Robin’s unusually dark eyes, Severus would have doubted that such a pretty child could ever have come from him. That this little boy would one day be a seventh year, taking his NEWTs. But he would have to know sometime. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Severus asked, “can you keep a secret, Robin?”

Looking a little less bereft, Robin nodded. Severus glanced about. There was only the wooden fences to separate Annie’s terraced house from her neighbours. “We should go inside,” Severus said. “It is a very big secret.” He stood, and held out his big hand for Robin’s small one. The little boy looked up at him, all traces of tears forgotten. 

“Are you a spy?” Robin whispered, eyes wide. 

Severus’ stomach dropped an inch. “No,” he said. It was a bald-faced lie. He still reported back on the Dark Lord’s actions to Dumbledore, and fed the Dark Lord information as instructed. “No, Robin, it’s something bigger than that.” He led his child through the kitchen and to the living room, seating himself on the sofa. Robin scrambled up and squirmed under Severus’ arm so he was pressed close to his father’s side. He looked up, expectantly.

Severus frowned, wondering how best to begin. He’d thought that perhaps he’d tell Robin when the boy had his first burst of uncontrolled magic: it would feel real and personal then. Perhaps he should have let the child carry on, but what if his first magic should come as he lisped those words a little too close to the killing curse? Magical children were taught never, never to say them. The killing curse was too feared, though he didn’t think he’d actually ever heard of a child murdering with them. They did, after all, lack the intent. 

It would be nice, he mused, to not have to be careful what was said around Robin anymore, to take him to Hogwarts. Minerva had been bothering him of late to bring the child, and Hogwarts during the summer, when it was empty of students, would be a spectacular playground for the little boy. 

Robin still waited, but he was getting fidgety, impatient. Steeling his nerves, Severus began. “There are some words that, when said by special people, can do special things.”

Robin looked at him blankly.

Severus tried again. “What do you know about dragons, Robin?” he asked, changing tack completely. Surely, the child had to have a view on dragons. 

Robin perked up, the sudden change in topic apparently not bothering him. “Mummy read me a story about a saint who killed a dragon!” he said. “He was called George!” He seemed to think for a moment. “The saint was called George. I don’t know if the dragon had a name. Do dragons have names?”

Severus barely managed to not roll his eyes. Of course Annie had told him the story of St. George and the Dragon. Merlin forbid that she read him stories that weren’t rooted in Christianity. “Yes, dragons have names,” he told Robin. “I do not know the name of that particular dragon, however. Would you like to meet a dragon?”

“Mummy said that dragons don’t exist anymore,” Robin said. “She said that God made them all go away.”

He really needed to stop Annie indoctrinating the child so. He hadn’t really realised just how bad it was. He would not let his son become a blind follower, with no enquiring mind. Severus knew all about the pitfalls of blind following. If Robin wished to subscribe to the Christian religion, that was fine, but he needed to make the choice logically. “Well, she’s wrong,” Severus said. “I have seen a dragon, but only a few people are allowed to see them. I can see them, and so can you, if I take you.”

“Will you take me?” Robin demanded, excited.

“I will,” Severus said. The dragon reserve in Wales was small, but enough to impress a small child, and he knew Hagrid would be able to ensure entry for them. Ah, Hagrid. “There are other animals that most people can’t see either,” he said. “There are unicorns too, and little creatures that look like balls of fluff with little faces. They look a bit like tiny cats without tails. You could meet them too.”

“Now?” Robin asked, hopeful.

“Not just now,” Severus said. “After all, it is almost teatime, and then bathtime. Perhaps you and I will go out for the day tomorrow and meet them.”

“Mummy too?” Robin asked.

Severus looked up to where Annie was leaning against the doorframe. Did she look… angry? Severus wondered if she’d taken the pills the muggle doctors had prescribed for her. They were supposed to stabilise her moods, make her less volatile, but she was rarely angry in any case. Sad, overwhelmed, confused… yes, she was all of those things, but not angry. “No, Robin,” Severus said, keeping his eyes on Annie’s face. “Do you remember that I said only certain people are allowed to see dragons?”

Robin nodded.

“Your mother isn’t one of those people,” Severus explained. “You see, there’s not just dragons and unicorns and puffskeins. There’s magic too, but not everyone can use it. I can, but your mother can’t.”

“Magic?” Robin asked, puzzled. “Like… when the rabbit came out of the hat on television?”

Muggle magicians. Severus remembered those from his childhood. Rabbits from hats, women being cut in half… all tricks, sleight of hand. “Not like that,” he told his son. “Better.” He pulled his wand from the narrow pocket sewn into his sleeve. He held it out for Robin to see, resisting the urge to pull it away when a little hand reached out to stroke the wood, worn to a patina by a decade and a half of use. “It’s like the stick you were waving earlier, but it has magic inside, and some people can use the magic, and some can’t.”

He flicked the wand, whispered an incantation, and watched Robin’s eyes go as round as saucers as deep purple and blue bubbles streamed from the end of the wand. The child reached out, hesitant at first to touch them, but then delighted as they popped under his fingers, just like soap bubbles. He giggled. “More!” Robin cried. “I want to make them!” He wrapped his hand around the wand. “Let me!”

“No, Robin,” Severus said seriously, pulling it out of his son’s grasp. “It is not a toy. I can make bubbles, but I can do terrible things as well. There is great power here. I can make people bleed, break their bones, even kill them, but I can make their injuries better too.”

“Like a doctor?”

“Like a doctor,” Severus confirmed. “Robin, those words you said earlier… they are words that can be very, very dangerous. You must promise me that you will never, ever say them again.”

The little boy frowned. “But… Mummy says that to make doors open…”

“To make doors open?” Severus asked, puzzled.

“You know the ones,” Annie said. “The glass ones, that slide, like they have at supermarkets. We say abra…” She trailed off as Severus glared at her, then tried again. “We say the magic words, because the doors open like magic.”

“Well, don’t say them any more,” Severus said firmly. “They are very close to what we call the killing curse. It is, of course,completely illegal. No magical child would ever use those words.” Annie looked at him, a mixture of anger and terror in her eyes. She turned and left, her footsteps clipping up the stairs. 

Robin was a placid child, but he was still four years old. He tugged at Severus’ arm. “More bubbles!” he demanded. 

“Patience, Robin,” Severus chided. “This is very important.” He stowed his wand back into his sleeve, the rigidity comforting against his forearm. It sometimes disturbed him now, that his wand was separated from his dark mark by only the thin fabric of his shirt and a layer of the woollen cloth of his robes, transfigured into a jacket for his forays into Annie’s world. Robin looked upset again, so Severus pulled the little body into his lap, relishing the weight, the warmth of his son. “Look at me.” 

Robin’s eyes met his, hesitantly. “I do not wish to tell you off, Robin,” Severus said, keeping his voice gentle. “But this is the most important thing I have ever asked of you. You must not tell anybody about this unless I tell you that you may. Do you understand?”

He knew that this was a big burden for a child to bear. “Yes, Daddy,” Robin said. “More bubbles?”

“No, Robin,” Severus said. “I am very, very serious. This is the biggest secret there is. The people who can’t do magic… they can’t ever, ever know about it. About the bubbles, about dragons, or unicorns…”

“Why?”

Severus thought for a minute. It always had to be why, didn't’ it? There always had to be a reason. How could he begin to explain the statute of secrecy? “Because magic is very very powerful, and people who don’t have magic get jealous, and they try to steal it.”

“Stealing is bad,” Robin said authoritatively. 

Severus could have sighed in relief, but he resisted. At last, the black and white morality of Annie’s religion helped him. It might be years before Robin questioned this one. “Yes,” Severus said. “That’s right. And we don’t want bad things to happen, so we don’t tell people without magic about it.”

“Why can’t Mummy use the magic?”

“She just can’t, Robin. Her parents couldn’t use it, so she can’t use it.”

“Can I use the magic?”

“When you are older,” Severus explained. “It is a grown up person thing.” He decided to try for a little more, Robin seemed to be following him so far. “You know that I am a teacher, don’t you?” he asked. Robin nodded solemnly. “Well, I teach magic,” he said. “At a big castle. One day, you’ll go there to learn how to do magic too.”

“Real magic?” Robin asked, with wide eyes and a grin.

“Real magic,” Severus confirmed with a little smile. “You’ll have your very own wand, and you’ll live in the castle and go to lessons that will tell you how to do tickling charms and how to read in special magic languages and how to turn books into cats and back again.”

“You can turn a book into a cat?” Robin interrupted excitedly. 

Severus said nothing, merely drew his wand again and looked about. One of Robin’s storybooks lay on a side table, but next to it was Annie’s Bible. He knew that it was perhaps cruel, but he could not resist. A moment’s concentration, and the Bible became a small black kitten. It mewed once, then turned back into the book. Robin’s eyes immediately brimmed over. “Where’d kitty go?” he asked morosely. “I want kitty!” He flung himself from Severus’ lap to cling at the book. 

“Robin, the cat is gone,” Severus said. “It… it never really existed. There is no cat.”

Robin paid him no heed, instead falling to the carpet and clutching the Bible to him, his voice rising to a high wail. “Kitty!” he shouted. 

“Robin!” Severus chastised sharply. “Robin, cease that racket!”

Annie’s footsteps hurried down the stairs again and she enfolded her small son in her arms. “What did you do to him?” she demanded shrilly. “Robin, darling, what’s the matter?” She tugged the book that Robin clung to his chest, moving it enough for her to realise that it was her Bible. “I knew all this magic was a bad idea! You tell him it’s not real right this moment, Severus Snape. You put this right, and we’ll never mention it again!”

“You’re being irrational, Annie,” Severus snapped back over Robin’s sobs. “I can’t make it go away, it’s real, and soon enough, he’s going to start showing magic. It happens to all magical children. It’s not something that you can ignore, or it will grow and it will burst out in the worst possible ways- fire, flood, grievous injury… the list goes on.”

“God will provide,” Annie insisted. “Look, he’s holding a Bible. God is telling us that this, this… magic, it’s wrong!”

“He’s holding the damned book because I turned it into a cat!” Severus snapped at her. “Look!” He transfigured the book back into the black kitten. Robin immediately stopped sobbing, squashing the cat tight to his chest in delight instead. Severus decided that it was a very good thing that the cat wasn’t real- it lay passively, whereas a genuine animal would have had Robin’s arms and face in ribbons.

Annie had recoiled in shock. “It’s… it’s a…”

“A cat. Yes”

“But…”

“Magic,” Severus explained. He stood only the kneel in front of Robin. “Robin… it’s not a real cat. Look.” He took the cat from his son, setting it on the ground. It sat and stared blankly. “A real kitten would be running around, sniffing things… it’s just a pretend kitten, like your cuddly toys.”

“It went mew…” Robin sadly insisted.

“Because I made it so it would meow,” Severus explained. “I could have made it into anything.” A flick of his wand, and the cat turned into a teacup, then a log, then, finally, with a shudder, back to Annie’s Bible. She picked it up, flicking through. “It’s all the same,” she said, confused, flicking between some pages annotated in pencil. 

“Of course it is,” Severus said absently, pulling a still sniffling Robin into his lap and tucking his against his chest. “It’s the same book.” He could see now that the cat had been a mistake: he’d been too keen to show off his skills, and to a child who would not recognise a difficult transfiguration if he saw one. He should have stuck with the teacup.

“Want kitty,” Robin grumbled. 

“We’ll go and meet some puffskeins tomorrow,” Severus promised.

“Puff skin?” Robin parroted lispily.

“You’ll see, but I think you’ll like them,” Severus said, brushing a strand of dark hair off Robin’s tear-stained cheek. “But they are very secret. You can’t tell people about them, or about the kitty book.”

“No one would believe him,” Annie said. “Severus…”

“Later,” Severus said. “When he’s in bed.” He could see from the look on Annie’s face that this would not be an easy conversation. She was not in an amenable mood. She still had so little interest in the world, no desire to do anything, but when it came to Robin, she was determined. Most of the time. Some days, it was like she forgot he even existed, but those times were few and far between. “I think it’s time for tea, Robin. How does fish fingers sound? And I brought some cake for pudding.”

It was easy to cheer a four year old child up. Fish fingers didn’t take long to cook, baked beans even less, and before long a delighted Robin had to have chocolate smears wiped off his face. It was rare that Severus was there for the whole afternoon and evening. During term time, he came for bedtime when he wasn’t called away by the Dark Lord, and during the holidays, a hour or two in the afternoons if he could. He knew that he needed to speak to Annie, though: she was quiet, withdrawn, so quiet, in fact, that she did not speak at all, would not read Robin a story. Severus didn’t bother to argue, instead, he tucked Robin in, drew the curtains in his little bedroom, and leaned against the headboard, laying his long legs up beside his son’s little blanketed form. He hoped he remembered the story he wanted to tell rightly. It wasn’t one he had known as a child; he hadn’t been read to as a child. It had been later, in the Hogwarts library, that he came across it, but it was a common enough wizarding fairy tale. He should buy Robin a copy, he decided. “I’m going to tell you a new story,” he said. “It’s the story of Babbity Rabbity.” Robin cuddled into him, a teddy bear clutched tight to his chest. 

Half an hour later, Severus carefully climbed from Robin’s bed, not wanting to disturb the slumbering boy. He went downstairs with heavy steps, avoiding the creak in the fourth step down. Annie was curled up in the chair, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. “I will come to collect him at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning,” Severus said. 

“No,” she said. “In fact, I think it might be best if you stayed away for a while, got all of this nonsense out of his head. Maybe stayed away entirely.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Are you trying to prevent me seeing my son, Annie?” he asked dangerously.

“This magic… I don’t want him having anything to do with it.”

“That is not your choice to make. I told you, Annie, I told you when you were pregnant with him that he would be magical. It’s not a choice Annie, it’s part of who he is, it’s in his blood. It can’t just go away.”

“God will answer my prayers,” she replied piously. “Robin will forget all of this. He will miss you for a while, but he will forget.”

“You can’t keep him from me, Annie. You had that choice, and you turned it down. You are not capable of raising him alone.” Thank goodness she hadn’t decided never to see him again. Robin would probably be in the care of the muggle authorities, or dead.

“I am!”

Severus wanted to shout. He drew his wand, cast a silencing sphere in case he did. “You do not always remember to feed him. He can be left alone for hours at a time. Sometimes I leave him with you against my better judgement. You are not a fit mother to parent alone, Annie.”

“I am!” she repeated indignantly.

“If you attempt to keep me away from him, I will be forced to remove him from your care,” Severus said dangerously softly.

She tipped her chin up. “I’ll find him,” she said. “I’m his mother, the courts would award me custody.”

Severus frowned. Silently, he walked over to the little dining table. He picked up a chair, turned it to face Annie, and sat facing her, so close that their knees would touch if she didn’t have her legs curled under her. He regarded her for a moment. She didn’t even flinch. That was unusual for Annie. She was normally almost afraid of Severus, particularly if he was less than happy. He suspected that she was the same with any man. “You have known mental issues, Annie,” he reminded her. “You are on a veritable pharmacy of strange muggle drugs. I don’t even think you are taking them as you should, and you think you are fit to be in sole charge of a child? Make no mistake, Annie, I will not hesitate to take him from you if I need to, and you will never find us. We are wizards, we can hide in plain sight.”

“That’s not fair!” Annie gasped.

“No,” Severus replied, “it’s not. Don’t make me do it.”

“He’s my son,” Annie whimpered, finally seeming to return to herself, her eyes brimming up with tears.

“Mine too,” Severus said. “I don’t want to take him from you, Annie, but I will if I have to. He has a right to know about the magical world, more than that, he has a need to know. He can’t turn up to school at eleven with no knowledge of the place.” Eleven was a long time away: before then, Severus would need to work out how to tell him that he’d need to hide his parentage. A problem for another day. “I will be here at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning, when I will take Robin out for the day. I will have him back by seven o’clock in time for his bath and bed. I do not ask for much, Annie, but on this, I insist.”

“Don’t take him from me,” Annie whispered. “He’s all I have…”

“I don’t want to, Annie. But don’t stop me seeing him. Don’t reject his magic, don’t tell him it’s not real, that it’s evil. You must support him in this, it is who he is. Do I have your promise?”

“It’s… it’s not Godly,” she murmured.

“I have a good friend who is both a witch and Christian,” he said. “Would you like to meet her?” He was certain that Minerva would, if he asked… he’d come to very much respect the Transfigurations professor. She seemed to understand him well, and he did appreciate her, though they held different views on many things. 

“I… I couldn’t possibly…” she began.

“I will ask Minerva to visit,” he said with finality. He stood before she could protest again, setting the chair back in its place. He strode to the kitchen, pulling open the cupboard where Annie kept the pills the muggle doctors gave her. They’d explained what the pills were for: to stabilise her moods, to lift depression. Severus had resisted the urge to throw them all out, to cast cheering charms, give her calming draughts. It sounded like they’d do the same thing. But Annie wasn’t sad, really, not in the short-term way a cheering charm could help. She wasn’t usually agitated. She just didn’t show much interest in the world beyond their son… except when she forgot. When she forgot, she couldn’t quite seem to figure out why he was there, and sometimes she just left him, though never for so long as she had the first time. It was those moments that Severus most wanted to take Robin away with him, not bring him back. But for the most part, she doted on him, and Robin adored his mother. It wouldn’t have been fair on either of them. Robin was too old now to just forget, and there would always be questions. 

He picked up on of the odd plastic packs encasing the pills. He should start keeping track of how many she had, he realised, what she’d taken. They were popped out at random through the packet, not in neat order, and she seemed to have more of one type left than the others. He considered himself an intelligent man, and he’d almost completed his training as a healer before being forced into teaching, but the long names, filled with unusual consonants, stymied him. He couldn’t remember which did what. He brandished the rattling packet. “Have you been taking these properly?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered immediately.

“Truly?” he questioned with a cocked eyebrow. “What do you take when?”

She looked down at her feet and shuffled about like a third-year who hadn’t done their homework. “When I need them, you know…” she muttered.

He threw the package down on the countertop with far more force than was necessary. “They do not work like that, Annie!” he growled. The muggle doctor had been quite clear on that matter. “Fetch me pen and paper,” he demanded.

Half an hour later, he’d reduced Annie to tears, but he’d drawn up a schedule of her medications based on the instructions on each package. He stuck it to the fridge, next to a finger painting of what might have been a spider, but he really couldn’t be sure. “You need to look after yourself, or you cannot be a fit mother,” he explained.

She looked up at him, tearstained. “I don’t like them, Severus,” she complained. “They make me tired, they make me feel not myself… I can’t feel God when I take them.”

Severus quietly wondered if perhaps that was a good thing. “Take the damned pills, Annie,” he sighed. “I will be back tomorrow morning for Robin.” He wished he could comfort her, but he had no idea what to say to her. He left her, striding down the garden to his usual apparition spot. The morning would come soon enough.

It did, of course. He’d spoken to Minerva the night before about Annie, and about bringing Robin for a visit to Hogwarts. And now, it was ten minutes to nine. Severus had carefully checked his chambers for anything dangerous for a small child, locking and warding the door to his lab, setting locking charms on all the cupboards low enough for Robin to reach… he kept having to remind himself that the boy was reasonable enough to do as he was told… he was no longer two. 

Severus found himself checking his pocket watch, watching the seconds ticking by. He transfigured his robes into muggle-appropriate attire, and, five minutes early, he apparated back to Annie’s garden. He turned the back door handle, but it was locked. He frowned. Annie knew he was coming, it should be open. A little stab of panic shot through his chest- had she taken Robin away? With no money, no job, no family, she’d never be able to manage! He didn’t even bother to fish out his keys, he just unlocked the door with his wand. The curtains were all still drawn, the kitchen and living room in darkness, uninhabited. He climbed the stairs with a heavy stone in the pit of his belly. 

He went immediately to Robin’s room, fearing that the bed would be empty, rumpled, abandoned. He’d be able to find his son- they shared a blood bond, after all- but it would take precious time.

He sagged against the door frame in relief. The bed was rumpled and empty, but Robin was sitting on the floor, still in his pyjamas, apparently acting out some scene with his cuddly toys. The boy looked up at him, a smile spreading across his face. “Wanna play?” he asked, holding out a stuffed lion Lily had bought him. It had been a barbed joke from her.

Severus sank to the floor across from his son, cross legged. He ignored the lion, selecting Robin’s favourite teddy instead. “What are we playing?” he asked. 

“Magic school!” Robin replied delightedly.

“Indeed,” Severus said. “Where is your mother, Robin?”

“In bed,” Robin said matter of factly. “She won’t wake up. What’s school like?”

“You’ll find out in two weeks,” Severus said with a frown. “Stay here. I shall be back in a moment.” He set the teddy down next to Robin and rose to his feet again.

He pushed open Annie’s bedroom door with some reluctance. He had no idea what he’d find. 

She was curled tightly, the blankets clinging to her so they outlined her foetal position. “Annie?”

No response. Fearing the worst, he stepped forward to place two fingers on the side of her neck, checking for a pulse. She flinched. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice low and sleepy and not quite all there.

“Checking you were still alive,” Severus said harshly. “What’s going on, Annie? Why aren’t you up?”

“What’s the point?” she snapped, not even rolling to face him. “You’re going to take him from me, you’re going to take my Robin, and he’s all I have.”

Severus clenched his fists until his nails dug painful crescents into his palms. “I have no desire to take Robin away from you,” he ground out. “It would hurt him too much. I want to take him out for one day, Annie, one single, solitary day. It is not too much to ask!”

“You won’t bring him back!”

“You have my word, Annie, that I will bring him back. When have I ever gone back on my word?” He felt more like he was arguing with a child than with a woman his own age! “I promise you that tonight, Robin will be asleep in his bed, in this house.”

“You’ll magic him!” she cried. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” Severus said. “Magic is a wonderful tool… it can heal, it can achieve things that human strength cannot.”

She stayed silent, staring at the opposite wall. Severus huffed. “Very well,” he said. “You may act like a child. I shall get Robin ready, and take him out for the day, we shall see you again by seven o’clock. I will ensure that he has had his tea before that time. If you are not behaving rationally by that time, I shall take him to spend the night with me and we will return in the morning. This will continue until I find you out of bed and ready to behave like a mother and not a spoilt child.” He turned on his heel and walked back into Robin’s room. “Come, Robin,” he said. “It is time to get dressed.”

Severus realised with some embarrassment that he had no idea where Robin’s clothes lived. Between checking the drawers, and Robin’s slightly silly help, he managed to piece together a reasonable selection of clothes. He didn’t think he’d dressed the child in anything but his pyjamas after a bath since Robin had stopped wearing nappies. At least Annie managed to keep the child in clean clothes, though she often seemed to have very little food in the house. This morning, the bread had green spots on it. Severus dropped it into the kitchen bin. “We’re going somewhere else for breakfast,” he told Robin. 

“To see the fluffle skins?” Robin asked.

“Puffskeins. Yes, we’re going to see the puffskeins, but first, you need to eat.” He crouched in front of the child, bringing him to Robin’s eye level. “Do you remember what I told you about magic yesterday?” he asked.

Robin scuffed his little toes on the kitchen floor. “I’m not allowed to tell anyone,” he said.

“That’s right, well done,” Severus said, and was rewarded by a beaming smile. “I’m going to take you to where I live now. It’s a magical castle, and it’s where magical children go to school when they are eleven years old. We’re going to go and meet some of the other teachers there, but they already know about magic, so you don’t have to hide it.”

Robin suddenly looked very nervous. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered.

“Why not?”

Robin just looked at the ground, not saying anything. “Robin, are you frightened?” Severus asked. 

Robin nodded. 

“These people will like you, Robin. One day, most of them will be your teachers. They like children, and it’s a wonderful place. There are secret passageways and tall towers and hidden rooms. Wouldn’t you like to see all of that?”

“Yes....” Robin answered slowly, as if he was losing his train of thought. 

“I’ll be with you all the time. I promise I won’t leave you alone at all, and if you don’t like something, all you have to do is tell me and we’ll do something else, okay?” He tucked a strand of Robin’s soft hair back behind the boy’s ear: Annie kept it just to his chin, and it was so glossy that it hardly needed brushing- it fell out of tangles as soon as it was in them. Severus had no idea where he’d acquired such lovely hair: it was the rich colour of Annie’s, but didn’t have her curls, but it was smoother, glossier than Severus’ own. “Would that be alright?”

Robin worried at his lower lip. Severus waited. “Okay,” Robin said eventually.

Severus managed a very small smile. “Good boy,” he said. “Now, where we’re going is a very long way away, so walking or getting the bus would be silly. But I’m a wizard, and I have special ways of travelling. It’ll feel very odd, but it means we can be there straight away, alright?”

“Okay,” Robin agreed.

“Come on then,” Severus said, standing and holding out his hand to his son. “We have to go to the bottom of the garden, okay?” Robin slipped his little hand into Severus’, roughened from the last few years of preparing potions ingredients and brewing for the school. 

He’d thought quite carefully about where best to apparate. Eventually, he’d decided on the far shore of the great lake: it was how most people saw Hogwarts for the first time, so it seemed only sensible to follow the tradition. Hagrid had been only too happy to pull out one of the boats and send it over when Severus had called on him early that morning. It was waiting there now, gentle wavelets lapping at its side. The treeline of the forest still hid the castle from view. Robin gasped, panting a little.

“Do you feel alright?” severus asked. Apparition was certainly an unusual sensation, side-along even more so.

“Squished…” Robin said, wide eyed, looking at his arms and down his body as if he expected to be a different shape now.

“That’s normal,” Severus assured him. “It does get easier. Shall we?” he gestured to the boat. He couldn’t decide if he was excited or terrified to be taking Robin to Hogwarts. A little of both, perhaps.

As nervous as he was, he knew it had to be done. The child couldn’t grow up with no knowledge. He squared his shoulders. “Come on then, Robin,” he said. “Let us go and find something to amuse ourselves with.”


	6. A new nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since a Hatchings chapter! I hope you enjoy, and hopefully not as long on the next one- I've been doing a lot of original work lately and not fanfic!

“Don’t lean too far,” Severus warned as Robin peered over the side of the boat to gaze into the depths of the lake. “You don’t want to fall in, after all.”

“But there’s something in there!” the over-excited little boy insisted. “I can see it moving!”

Severus wrapped an arm around Robin, pulling him back into the boat. “There’s a giant squid that lives down there,” he informed his son. “You don’t want to be his breakfast.”

Robin looked up, his dark eyes wide. “He’d… eat me?”

“Perhaps,” Severus said solemnly.”Perhaps he wouldn’t. But I don’t think we should throw you in to find out.” Robin nodded, his eyes still imitating saucers. On the far shore, Severus could see the hulking figure of Hagrid waiting by the waterline. The half-giant had taken the news of Severus’ offspring very well, he’d been rather excited and possibly a little teary with joy at the prospect of a small child visiting. Severus hadn’t had the courage to suggest that, large as Hagrid was, he might frighten a four-year-old. He just hoped that Robin didn’t find it all too intimidating. So far, he hadn’t seemed to notice Hagrid: he was gazing at the castle above them. He hadn’t even commented on the fact that the boat moved without anyone to row and no motor, but then, Robin had never been on a boat before. Robin had never been much of anywhere before. He might not realise that boats usually had to have some method of propulsion. Perhaps, Severus mused, magic might be easier for him to swallow than expected. 

Robin broke into Severus’ thoughts. “It’s so big…” he breathed.

“It is,” Severus agreed. 

“Will I get big here?” Robin asked. Severus was about to confirm that, yes, Robin would grow up here, but not just yet, when the little boy continued. “Big like that man?”

Severus choked back a sudden burst of laughter. Robin was pointing right at Hagrid. “You won’t get that big,” he assured the boy. “That’s Hagrid, and he’s very, very big.”

“He’s bigger than you,” Robin noted as the boat nudged against the shore.

“Yes, he is bigger than me,” Severus agreed. He stood and carefully lifted Robin onto his hip to climb over the bow of the boat. The little boy clung to him like a heavy limpet, winding his arms around Severus’ neck. “Good morning, Hagrid,” he said. “My thanks for the boat.”

“Not a bother, Pr’ffesor,” Hagrid said gruffly. “This the little man?” 

Hagrid was hanging back, but his beady eyes were fixed on Severus’ armful. He was clearly desperate to get to know the child. Severus set Robin down on the pebbled shore of the lake. “Would you like to say hello, Robin?” he suggested. 

Robin took a step back closer to his father’s legs. “Hello,” he said quietly, his head down as he studied the stones at his feet. 

Hagrid smiled, his ruddy lips showing through his sizeable beard. He dropped down to one knee and fished in the pocket of his greatcoat. “Eh, lad, there’s no need to be frightened. Here, I brought you a wee something. A present, like.” he held out his hand, cupped loosely around something. If it was a rock cake, Severus would have to find a way to remove it before Robin chipped his teeth. Hagrid didn’t seem to have much grasp of cooking times. 

A little fearfully, Robin approached Hagrid. He gasped as Hagrid opened his hand, and Severus leaned over to see what it was. He sighed. “Oh!” Robin squeaked. “What… what is it?”

“It’s a puffskein. Yer Dad said you were interested in them, like,” Hagrid explained. Robin reached out to pet the little fluffball with a careful finger.

“It’s for me?” he asked quietly.

Severus interjected then. “Only for today. You’ll have to give it back at the end of the day- it needs to go back to its family.”

Robin looked heartbroken. “Aww, now, Pr’ffesor…” Hagrid wheedled.

“Magical pets do not belong in a muggle home,” Severus said firmly. 

Hagrid smiled wanly. “Well then,” he whispered conspiratorially to Robin, “I’ll just have to keep ‘im, and you can see ‘im whenever you visit, alright?” 

“Alright,” Robin agreed with a little smile. 

Hagrid nodded. “Aye. Now, here, I think maybe he’d like a ride on your shoulder.” He carefully decanted the little creature onto Robin’s left shoulder. Robin reached up to pet it even as it curled its little paws into his t-shirt. It began to hum. “See there,” Hagrid encouraged. “He likes you! Shall we go and meet the rest of them?”

Severus cleared his throat. “We need to find some breakfast first, Hagrid,” he intoned. “Perhaps I could bring Robin down to see you this afternoon?”

“Aye,” Hagrid said. “I’ll look forward to it.” He held out his giant paw to Robin. “I’ll see you later. See if I can’t fetch out a niffler for you, and maybe there’ll be unicorns near the edge of the forest.” He waited a second. “Well, lad, won’t you shake my hand?”

Carefully, Robin put his little hand against Hagrid’s fingers, dwarfing it entirely. Very gently, Hagrid gripped the tiny hand between thumb and fingers, and shook slightly. He smiled and rose, looking like a mountain growing from the ground before the four-year old. “Come, Robin, you must be hungry,” Severus said. He led his son away, puffskein still perched on Robin’s shoulder

“Daddy,” Robin said as they walked away, “I think that man might be a giant!”

Well, at least the child noticed that much. “I think you might be right,” Severus agreed. “Now how about you see where I live, and then we shall have some breakfast?”

It was hard work to get to his quarters: Robin seemed to have found his confidence and wanted to explore every nook and cranny of the castle. He tugged on Severus’ hand like a puppy tugging at a leash, trying to climb behind suits of armour, dart off into side corridors and peer around corners. 

It was hard to confine him for long enough to feed him before he demanded to see everything. Severus took him up to the Astronomy tower and into the Great Hall to look at the enchanted ceiling, and then they visited the greenhouses, where Robin happily grubbed up some gillyflowers for his mother. 

A picnic by the lake followed, laid on by the house elves. Robin ran up and down the shores between sandwiches and tiny fairy cakes and swigs of milk- he’d quickly declared pumpkin juice ‘yucky’. Severus found that he was actually enjoying just watching the little figure dart about: he hadn’t thought that he could have experienced joy just because of Robin’s excitement. He even found himself smiling: unheard of on Hogwarts grounds!

“Ah,so this is the young lad.”

Severus quietly took in a deep breath before turning to face Dumbledore. “Headmaster.”

Robin was running towards them, then spotted the unfamiliar figure. He darted behind Severus, clutching his father’s trousers in his little hands. Dumbledore crouched, his purple robes puddling around him. “Well, hello, young man,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“He’s nervous around strangers,” Severus said sharply. 

Dumbledore smiled. “Ah, but I think I know how we might tempt you out.” From his robes, he produced a tin. “Would you like a sweetie?”

Severus clenched his hands into tight fists hidden behind his back as the lemon sherbets made their appearance. “I’m afraid Robin has just had his lunch,” he intoned smoothly. “He’s had quite enough sugar from the house elves.” At the same time, he felt that pressure on his mind that meant someone was trying to gain access to his thoughts. He stared impassively at the headmaster even as he very obviously blocked every attempt at intrusion, and the headmaster made no outward appearance of his own legilimentic activities. It was a strange game of back-and-forth they played, one in which neither would admit their participation. 

Albus gave a sickly sweet smile. “Well then, another time,” he said.

When Albus was a good distance away, Robin tugged at Severus’s trousers again. “Up?” he asked hopefully. 

With a grunt, Severus lifted Robin onto his hip. “You’re far too big for this,” he told his son.

Robin didn’t really seem to care as he clung to Severus. “Who was that man?” he asked. 

“That was the headmaster. He’s in charge of everything here.”

“He’s in charge of you?”

“Yes, Robin. He’s in charge of me too,” Severus sighed. He wished it wasn’t true.

“I like Hagrid better.”

“Then let’s go to see Hagrid.”

Robin rolled about on the floor of Hagrid’s hut with Hagrid’s dog, a gigantic St Bernard named Flossie that seemed to be drenching Robin in drool. Severus partook of a bucket-sized cup of tea and secreted pieces of his rock cake away into his pockets to be disposed of at a later date. 

He was mildly startled by a cat leaping in through Hagrid’s open front window, landing neatly on the table in front of him. “Alright, Pr’ffesor,” Hagrid greeted, as if this was a perfectly normal occurrence. “Will you have a bit ‘o tea, like?”

The cat gave him a withering stare, and Severus finally, belatedly, realised that it was no ordinary cat, but Minerva. She leapt down off the table and stalked over to the oversized bundle of fur and child on the rug. “Kitty!” Robin crowed delightedly. She reached out one tabby paw to tap Flossie on the nose, and the St. Bernard wiggled into the corner with a whine. She promptly began twining herself around Robin even as he made a grab for her tail.

“Robin, no!” Severus yelped. “No, don’t touch, that’s…”

Minerva turned her feline face to him, drew back her lips and hissed. “Kitty?” Robin demanded, sounding a bit hurt that the cat would make such a noise.

She climbed into his little lap, curled herself up, and began to purr.

Severus sat back down, staring.

Hagrid was chuckling quietly to himself. “I s’pose she’d just like to meet your lad, Pr’ffesor,” he offered.

“It would seem so,” Severus replied. 

It neared the hour when Severus had promised he would take Robin back to Annie. He dreaded the return: dreaded finding her still in her bed, or worse, gone, but he had to keep his promise. Minerva followed them back up the castle, keeping Robin company after the heartbreak of saying goodbye to his new puffskein, but stalked off towards the Great Hall rather than follow them back down to the dungeons. Severus had cordially invited her to partake in Robin’s evening meal, but Minerva must not have liked the prospect of fish fingers. 

Fed and watered, it was a sleepy little boy that clung to Severus as he was carried down to the edge of the grounds for the apparition trip home. “Can I come back tomorrow, Daddy?” he asked.

“Soon,” Severus countered, not wanting to commit to anything at all until he knew what state Annie was in. It might be sooner than tomorrow. He didn’t want to make any promises and upset the child.

Robin wiggled to be let down as soon as they were back in Annie’s garden. Severus put him down, entreaties to let Severus go first falling on deaf ears as he shot off towards the house, yelling for Annie. Severus took off after him at a trot, really hoping that Robin wouldn’t stumble into any unpleasant sights. 

He sighed in relief. Robin chattered a mile a minute at Annie, who stood in the middle of the freshly cleaned kitchen. She glared at Severus. “Good evening, Annie,” he greeted. 

“...and Mummy, Mummy, there was a huge dog, and it licked me! And there was a cat, and the dog was scared of the cat, Mummy…”

“Goodnight, Severus,” Annie said frostily. 

“Are you feeling better?” he enquired. 

“Yes, thank you. I can take it from here. Goodnight, Severus.”

He nodded. She was up, and she’d cleaned the house. He sidled past her to check her pill packets: it looked as if she’d taken them. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” he said then dropped to his knee. “Robin, I’m going now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Robin stopped his babble for long enough to throw his arms around Severus’ neck. “Thank you, Daddy!” he lisped.

“Bathtime, Robin,” Annie cut in, already reaching out to herd Robin upstairs.

Severus watched the house for an hour, sitting beneath a disillusionment spell on the bench on the other side of the road, afraid that Annie would leave with Robin. He saw her come downstairs alone, Robin presumably in bed, and settle herself in the living room. She turned on the television. 

Mollified for now, he apparated away from a nearby alleyway.

He returned to Hogwarts to find a tabby cat sitting by the door to his chambers. She looked up at him and blinked. He raised an eyebrow as he opened the door. “After you, kitty,” he murmured sarcastically, letting her stalk in before him. As he closed the door, she gracefully transformed back into straight-backed Minerva. He watched her with a quirk of the lips that might almost have been a smile. “And what was all that?” he asked.

“I thought the child may prefer to meet an animal than another person,” she said stiffly. “He has grown since I saw him last.”

“I believe children tend to do that,” Severus agreed. “I wasn’t even aware you were back from your holidays.”

“I returned this morning,” she explained. “Albus mentioned that you had brought Robin. I rather wanted to see how he was getting on. How is the situation with his mother these days?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “It may take a while. I think you might need a drink,” he said. “What will you have?”


	7. Sparrowhawk

“Thank you, Lily,” Severus said stiffly as he stood the hall of Annie’s house. “I appreciate it.”

She smiled up at him from her seat on the floor, tying Robin’s shoes. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen my godson!” She ruffled Robin’s hair affectionately. “We’re going to have such a lovely day- lunch out in the garden, and there’s a family of ducks down in the pond. We’ll feed them some bread! And he hasn’t even met Harry yet.”

“How is… he?” Severus asked, once again swallowing the urge to tell Lily to leave Potter and let her daughter grow up as nature intended. But he’d tried, and Lily just kept insisting that she was fine, they were fine, that she loved James, and Severus couldn’t stand to hear that horrible little sentence again. 

“He’s doing lovely. He’s walking already! Well, tottering.” Her gaze turned wistful. “I wish you could see him, Sev,” she lamented. But they both knew that that was impossible. With the location of Potter Cottage secret kept, and Harriet’s location such an issue of security, Severus would not put her life at risk. His occlumency skills were good, and growing ever better under Dumbledore’s tuition, but no occlumens was ever truly infallible. It was too much of a risk, and in truth, he didn’t know if he could bear to see her raised as a little boy. There were times he hated the traditions of the wizarding world.

“Does Potter even know where you are now?” Severus bit out harshly.

“Severus, let’s not argue,” Lily pleaded. “Not now. It doesn’t matter. Robin and Harry and I will have a lovely day together, and you can go to the doctor’s with Annie, and not have to worry at all. It will all be fine.”

“Harriet,” Severus hissed.

“Harry,” Lily said firmly.

“It’s like you don’t even remember you have a daughter!” His hair hung around his face, casting it into shadows, but she could not miss the flashing of his eyes even as he looked away and she was met with a wall of impenetrable Severus. But still, she had to try.

“I have a son,” she riposted. “A beautiful, smiling, strong son.” She looked down at Robin, who was clearly used to standing around waiting for grown-ups to finish talking. He had to do it every week when Annie took him to church. “Come on then, little man,” she said with a smile. “Let's get going so your Mummy and Daddy can get on.”

Severus watched them go down the garden path, hand in hand. His own hands were clenched, his fingernails digging crescents into his palms. She should be his… that should be Lily, with their son, and Harriet… Hur turned away and shut the door. “Annie?” he called. “Are you ready?”

There was no answer. With a roll of his eyes, Severus climbed the stairs to find her.

Down the street, Lily crouched before Robin. “Have you apparated with your Daddy before, Robin?” she asked.

Wide eyed, the child nodded. He didn’t really know who this pretty lady was, but his Daddy had told him that she was his godmother. But he thought Auntie Isabel was his godmother, not this lady- Auntie Lily, he remembered. She smiled kindly. “Good,” she said.”I’m going to apparate with you, and we’re going to go and meet my little boy. He’s called Harry and he’s a bit littler than you-he’s not long turned one!”

“I’m four,” Robin informed her gravely.

She smiled. “I know. You’re a very big boy, aren’t you?”

Robin just blinked at her. She looked a bit sad, he thought. “You’re just like your father,” she said. “He was always very quiet too.” She stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. “Now then, we’re going to go to my house.” She pulled a little scrap of screwed up paper from her pocket. “And finding my house is a bit like a treasure hunt- you have to have a clue first, or you can’t find it. Shall we read it together?” She tucked Robin carefully against her side, wrapping an arm around him and unfolding the little bit of paper. There, in Wormtail’s scrawl, was written ‘The Potter cottage can be found on Old Farm Lane, Godric’s Hollow.’ She helped Robin sound out the words.

He tucked his chin close down to his chest. “I don’t understand,” he muttered.

“That’s okay,” she said, kissing the top of his silky little head gently. “You don’t really have to understand.” For a child, seeing the secret-keeper’s note was usually enough. “Let’s go and see the ducks, shall we?”

Robin didn’t seem to mind the yawning, pressing abyss of apparition, holding tightly onto Lily, and they both landed quite safely just inside the secret-kept wards. She opened the front door. “I’m home, Mrs. Bagshot,” she called. “How’s my little Harry then?”

Lily had to revise her opinion of Robin as a quiet boy when he ran screeching around the garden chasing a pigeon, Harry toddling after him on chubby little legs. The two boys couldn’t be more different- Robin, tall even for his age, with long silky dark hair and serious eyes, and Harry, all curves and smiles and baby roundness with a tuft of James-wild hair sticking straight up from the top of his head. Her little boy burbled with laughter even as his little legs went from under him and he plopped down onto his well-padded bottom. She plucked another daisy from the lawn, slipping it onto her daisy-chain. 

Robin ran up to her, then, shyly, looking at his feet, pulled his hands from behind his back and offered her a daisy. “For me?” she asked with a smile, and he nodded. “Thank you,” she said, pulling him closer to kiss his head. “They’re my favourites.” She tucked it into her hair and he grinned. “Shall we go inside for cake and lemonade?” she suggested.

Robin grinned from ear to ear.

In typical timing, the doorbell rang just as she was strapping Harry into his high chair. “Stay here,” she warned both boys before answering the door. There were only a few people it could be, a few people who had access through the fidelius wards.

“Albus! This is a surprise!”

He smiled benignly. “I thought I would just drop in and see you.”

“I would have thought that you would be busy with getting everything ready for the start of term on Monday,” she said.

“A short break, my dear. Perhaps I could come in for a cup of tea?”

Lily dithered. “I’ve a guest,” she admitted.. 

Albus’ bushy eyebrows drew together slightly. “A guest?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she agreed. She had no idea if Albus knew about Robin- Severus was so very secretive. She really could think of no way to explain this away without it sounding like she was having an affair. She was about to come clean when Albus’ face suddenly cleared.

“Ah,” he said. “Might it perhaps be Severus’ little boy? I am aware that he and the child’s mother had an appointment today… a muggle doctor, I believe? I did wonder who would be watching the child.”

Lily visibly sagged with relief at not having to keep the secret. “Yes, it is,” she said. “If… if you don’t mind being subjected to the sight of two small children smearing chocolate cake on their faces, perhaps you’d like to come in for some tea?”

Dumbledore smiled benignly. “Some tea would be lovely… and some cake too.” He stepped inside, taking off his hat and hanging it on the coat stand. “Maybe I could have moment alone with Severus’ lad? We met not so very long ago. He’s a charming little creature.”

Lily glanced up at him. She had no idea why Dumbledore would need to be alone with Robin, but then, she knew he would never harm a child, and he was always mysterious about his intentions. She supposed that it came from his formidable intellect. “Take the living room,” offered. “I’ll make some tea.”

“That would be lovely,” he twinkled. Then his voice grew serious, and she was reminded of standing with her head down and her hands clasped before his desk in the headmaster’s study, explaining why she’d been seen talking to a boy, in her nightdress, outside her common room and in the middle of the night. “Lily… how did you circumvent the Fidelius wards for the child? Did Peter meet him?”

“No, I got him to write it down,” she said. “Don’t worry, the note’s already destroyed- I know how dangerous it can be.”

“Good,” Dumbledore replied, sidling past her into the kitchen. “Ah! How nice to see you again so soon!” he twinkled at Robin. “Now then, how about you and I go through into the living room?”

Robin, sitting obediently at the kitchen table, shot a look at Lily. “Go on,” she encouraged. “I’ll have some cake all ready for you when you’ve had a little chat with your Uncle Albus- wasn’t it nice of him to come to visit?”

Robin slid off his chair, and Dumbledore held out a hand towards Robin. The little boy just blinked at him, ignoring it. Albus chuckled. “An independent one, aren’t you? Just like your father. Go on then, go through…” He guided Robin into the bright living room with a hand between the boy’s shoulder blades.

“Now then, young man,” Dumbledore twinkled, crouching down in front of Robin to kneel on the hearth rug. “You’ve had a lovely day, haven’t you?” 

Robin watched the headmaster from under his dark eyelashes. Slowly, he gave a little nod. “And I’m sure you’ll remember it for a nice long while,” Dumbledore told him. “You just might not quite remember where you were.”

And then Robin started to whimper, then he screamed, his high wail cutting the air. Lily dashed through from the kitchen, only just preceded by the sound of the cake knife clattering against the countertop. Her wand was already in her hand. “What are you doing to him?” she cried out. “Stop it! Stop!”

Dumbledore patted Robin’s head. “There, there,” he said. “All done now.” He straightened up, and Lily immediately snatched Robin into her arms. “What did you do to him?” she demanded, trying to soothe the crying child.

“It was for your safety, Lily,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “I’ve just removed the knowledge of your address from the boy, that is all. I would so hate for it to fall into the wrong hands.”

“You don’t trust Severus!” she accused. “Shh, Robin, it’s fine. He’s not going to touch you again. I promise.” She put him carefully on the floor. “You should go into the kitchen- I’ve put some cake for you on a plate on the table.”

With a last sniffle, Robin agreed, and a gentle push to his shoulder sent him trotting off. “Why don’t you trust Severus?” Lily asked.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “In this, my dear, it is wisest not to trust Severus. Do not trust anyone you are not sure of- trust in your husband, and trust in his friends. You will learn, I think. But perhaps best not to mention this to Severus, yes?”

“He was going to do it,” she said woodenly. “He was going to hide the memory himself. He wants us to be safe, Albus! He wants me to be safe!”

Dumbledore took off his glasses, carefully polishing them on the edge of his sleeve. “Do not underestimate the power of love, my dear Lily. Love, and the power of hate.” Lily made to interrupt, but he held up a hand, silencing her with the power of a teacher, the power of a man over her in all society. “Severus loves you,” he told her. “You try not to see it, but you know. And you resist, as is right, you resist because you stay to the light. And Severus hates James. You know that too. Do not underestimate what Severus feels- his mind goes deeper than even you would expect.”

“He would have done it,” Lily insisted weakly

“Well, now there is no need,” Dumbledore said smoothly. “I have saved him a task. But I think he does not need to know that it caused his son pain.”

“Why?” Lily whispered. “Why did it hurt him? It shouldn’t hurt him… should it?”

“No, my dear, not usually. But Severus has always been very skilled at hiding his thoughts, even as quite a young boy. Perhaps this child has inherited something of his talent for shrouding his mind, and it caused him pain. Or perhaps his magic is not so very strong, as he cannot shield his thoughts.”

She frowned. She wondered if Dumbledore could possibly be suggesting what it sounded like. “He’s a… he might be a…  _ squib _ ?” She whispered the word, not wanting Robin to even hear a memory of the word on the wind. To not have magic, to see this world around you and be unable to participate… She’d seen what it did to Petunia. No one deserved that. Not Severus’ little boy. Not when Severus had overcome so much to accept Robin.

A sad smile split Dumbledore’s beard. “Perhaps, and perhaps not. You see now, why it would be best not to burden Severus?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes… But what if Robin says…”

“He’s a child,” Dumbledore placated quickly- a little too quickly. “Pain is but a moment for them, a moment easily forgotten. The cake will quite remove the trauma, I am sure.”

All the same, Lily felt uneasy as she watched Robin eat little morsels of his cake. Albus had turned his attention to Harry, cooing and playing with the younger child, and Harry crowed with laughter. 

Lily glanced up at the clock. “I need to take Robin back home,” she said quietly. “His parents should be back by now.” She hesitated a moment. After Dumbledore had hurt Robin, she was reluctant to ask this… She gave herself a mental shake. Albus hadn’t meant to hurt the child: he hadn’t meant any harm. Harry would be safe with him, as safe with him as he could be. “Would you mind watching Harry? I won’t be long.”

“I would be delighted,” Albus assured her. 

“Thanks,” Lily said. “Come on, then, Robin… let’s give your face and hands a wash, and then take you home to Mummy and Daddy, okay?” She dampened a cloth in the sink, carefully washing off the chocolate smears from around Robin’s little mouth, and pulling out her wand to clean off the stain on his t-shirt. She quickly repaired the ragged hem too: Robin was clean, which was more than could be said for Severus as a child, but his clothes definitely had the same slightly aged air as his father’s had. “Honestly, Albus, can’t you give Severus a raise?” she groused. “Look at the state of Robin’s clothes.”

“Severus must cut his cloth to fit his means,” Albus informed her. “As we all do.”

With a deep sigh, Lily stood. “I suppose.” She nibbled on her lip. “Albus… you know how much James and Severus dislike each other… I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention to James about Robin being here.”

He looked at her sadly. “You should learn to trust your husband.”

“Albus…”

He looked down at Harry. “I won’t tell him. But you should.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank you, Albus.”

She did hurry, though, because for all of Albus’ promises, she didn’t want James to come home and find her not there, give Albus the chance to tell him. Robin trotted down the road beside her as fast as his little legs could carry him without an all out run.

Severus answered the door almost immediately on her knock. “All okay?” she asked, ever so slightly breathless from her march up the street.

He inclined his head. “Did he behave?” he asked

“Perfectly.” She hesitated on the doorstep. “There’s no need to alter his memories… Albus has already done it.”

Severus’ eyebrows shot together. “Albus?” he asked. “I was unaware that Albus would be there.” His displeasure was in every clipped syllable.

Lily had the grace to look ashamed. “He dropped in for some tea,” she explained, her words garbling in her haste to be gone, to get away before Severus could ask any more probing questions. She didn’t want to have to lie to him. “Look, I’ve got to get back… I’ll see you soon, okay?” She ruffled Robin’s hair. “See you again,” she said kindly. “I had fun with you today.”

Robin looked between them. “Can I chase the pigeons again?” he asked. “And cake?”

“Yes,” she agreed with an indulgent smile. “Of course. See you, Severus. Goodbye, Robin.” She turned and hurried down the street. 

“Lily…” Severus called after her, but she didn't turn.

Robin tugged of Severus’ hand. “I can go again, Daddy?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” Severus said darkly, his eyes on Lily’s retreating back.

He didn’t know then, he couldn’t have known, that that was the last time he’d see Lily alive. 

The new term galloped by in a  whirlwind of lessons and detentions and sorting out Slytherin troubles, interspersed with bathtime for Robin and keeping a close eye on the endless round of medications the muggle doctors had given Annie: pills upon pills of all different colours and sizes. Sometimes, too, there were calls to the Dark Lord, and he dreaded these more than he ever had. The Dark lord was growing even more bloodthirsty, if that was possible. Severus was grateful in the extreme that his position at the school kept him away from the killing for the most part, though of course he cursed being Albus Dumbledore’s pet in the presence of the Lord, and of the Death Eaters. 

He kept his mind clouded and vague.

The Dark Lord complained that teaching children was rotting Severus’ brain.

He kept a desire for Lily uppermost in his mind, hoping against hope that if the Potters were found, that he might gain something from it.

The Dark Lord laughed at Severus for wanting a mudblood. Severus secretly hoped that, as the Dark Lord found it amusing rather than infuriating, he might be able to save Lily, and then, perhaps, she’d take comfort from him. Perhaps she'd be his. He should have hated himself for imaging the death of James Potter.

He didn't.

He imagined a sister for Robin, a little girl with his dark hair and Lily’s green eyes. Maybe she’d have Harriet for a middle name, to remember that other little girl.

He kept these thoughts to himself. 

He suffered cruciatus whenever the Dark Lord felt so inclined, leaving him shaking and weak. 

He survived.

Halloween that year was a dismal day. It poured with rain, all the students huddled in the castle, aside from a few brave quidditch fools, barely visible through the driving rain. A few brave quidditch fools and Severus, a water-repelling charm on his cloak as he slogged through the grounds. There were days where he considered having Annie’s house linked to the floo network.

He knew he didn’t have long before he’d be expected to put in an appearance at Dumbledore’s gods-forsaken Halloween feast. How he hated the feasts. The Christmas feast was probably the worst: only those students with no family to go to left to be entertained by the residential staff, who were contractually obliged to put in their appearance. The idea that residential staff might have families, or even children, seemed to escape Albus’ notice. Severus knew it grated on Minerva too. He wondered if that was why Albus did it. 

Severus’ day got no better. Annie began to scream at him as soon as he came in, and Robin took to a corner to hide. Severus supposed that the child’s fear and bewilderment showed that this was unusual behaviour, and that, at least, was a blessing. Annie only seemed to take her anger and hatred out on Severus, and showed all her love to Robin. He let the insults roll off him, grateful that the house was soundproofed, and silently extricated Robin from the corner to deposit him in the bath. 

He knew he was late for the feast by the time his calm, silent presence had restored the shaken boy to normality and put him to bed.

He was halfway down the stairs when the sudden lancing pain hit. He gasped, then folded, collapsing against the stairs with his arm clutched to his chest. A guttural shout escaped him. His arm was burning, flayed, surely it was being eaten alive by a thousand rats! He didn’t hear Annie shouting for him; he didn’t hear Robin’s renewed sobs. The buttons from his sleeve ricocheted off the wall, sent flying by nothing but the force of Severus’ raw power in his pain as he scrabbled at his arm, trying to see what was wrong, trying to assess the damage.

When he’d ripped his sleeve back, still gasping and panting, there were no rats, no blood, no charred skin, but his Mark stood out, crimson, redder than blood. He dragged his wand from his robes, placing the tip against the skull, but nothing happened. This was no summoning- it was a thousand times worse than the pain of any summoning he’d known. He cast a numbing charm instead, which at least took the edge off the pain so he could think.

Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet, clinging to the bannisters. “Severus?” Annie croaked. 

“See to Robin,” Severus replied hoarsely. He turned everything over in his brain as he gingerly inched his way down the steps. The pain could only mean something was happening to the Dark Lord… and he remembered the Dark Lord’s obsession with locating the Potters. The obsession that had worried Severus sick for months. Could he have… possibly… He knew he could not consider anything else before he knew Lily was safe. “I need to go,” Severus slurred. 

The first part of the trek through the house was torturous, though as he reached the garden, moving became easier. He didn’t know if it was the fresh air on his face or the pain beginning to lessen, but his strides were stronger, longer, as he stumbled past the anti-apparition wards on the house and into the little copse of trees. He turned on the spot and vanished, apparating into the street in Godric’s Hollow.

He shouldn’t be able to see the house, he thought dumbly. It was secret kept. He shouldn’t be able to see it. That thought blocked out the state of the house for a few blissful seconds. Then the blown out windows and the gaping hole in the roof sank into his conciousness0, the tumbled stone from the side of what Severus knew had been the nursery. “Lily,” he breathed, and then he was running up the path towards the front door that hung off its hinges, the pain in his arm nothing more than an annoyance. 

He stopped short at the foot of the stairs, where James Potter’s sightless, dead eyes stared up at the ceiling. Swallowing hard, he stepped over the empty shell of his schoolday nemesis. A thousand what-ifs flashed through his mind. This could only be the work of the Dark Lord, surely… and he’d begged intercession for Lily’s life so many times… perhaps the Dark Lord had been in the mood to reward a follower, perhaps he hadn’t, perhaps it hadn’t been the work of the Dark Lord, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps only carried him as far as the door to the nursery where, in the flickering lamplight incongruously lighting the destroyed room, Lily lay. 

Severus was on his knees on the floor beside her before he’d even had a moment to take in the scene, and he lifted her, calling her name, begging her to wake up. His fingers went to the pulse in her neck, guided by the memory of his healer’s training, but there was no pulse, there was no breath, there was no life. 

He held her in his arms.

He howled.

He howled out every day he’d spent without Lily by his side, and he howled out every unfairness that had led them here, every misunderstanding, every moment of selfish, horrible pride, every unkind word and every wretched cutting remark. She lay limply in his arms, her beautiful long red hair trailing across the floor, her tiny freckles standing out so plainly on her deathly white face and the light gone from her lovely eyes.

He held her as his screams faded to deep, wrenching sobs, and still she didn’t stir.

And still, he was alive. Every pain in his body attested to that- the agonising ache of his Mark, the shredded remains of his throat, the tightness of every muscle and the burning of his eyes, and, most of all, the part of his chest where his heart had been ripped out whole. He couldn’t take a full breath: each one came out as a strange little exhalation, a puff of air. 

It was only in the silence left after his hurricane that he heard the cry that wasn’t his; the thin little reedy sound. Painfully slowly, he lifted his head and looked for the source of the sound.

There, in the crib, was the child- Lily’s child. His little goddaughter, Harriet, disguised. As gently as he possibly could, he laid Lily’s empty form back onto the floor. He pushed himself to his feet, wobbled there a moment, then reached out to grip the edges of the crib. He tried to shush her, but only a strange hiss came from his throat. Swallowing hard, he tried again, getting a slightly better sound on the second attempt. He reached down into the crib to pick her up, and she immediately clung to him, winding her chubby toddler hands into the heavy fabric of his robes. He turned back towards the door now, his only intention to cradle this little piece of Lily, to keep her always with him.

He came face to face with Dumbledore. He was breathing heavily, clutching the child against his chest, and he just stared at the headmaster. Albus shook his head sadly. “Oh, my poor, poor boy,” he crooned. “If it could have been avoided… if we’d only known… It must be so hard for you, my boy- I know what she was to you.”

Severus nodded; a jerky, strange nod where his neck couldn’t quite control his swimming head. “Excuse me,” he said hoarsely.

Dumbledore held out out his arms. “I can take little Harry now,” he said. 

Severus pressed Harriet closer to his chest. “No,” he said, his voice a little stronger. “She’s coming with me. She belongs with me.”

Dumbledore gave a sad smile, his twinkling eyes watery. “Oh, Severus, surely you cannot think that you could take Harry? No. He will have a good life, Severus, away from the stress and the endless stares of the magical world.”

“No,” Severus said flatly. “She can have a good life with me.”

A bark of laughter emerged from Dumbledore. “With you?” he questioned. “You, Severus, who can barely keep your own blood child above abject poverty, you who won’t even ensure his safety by removing him from his mad mother? You are no father in anything but blood- you don’t have it in you to love a child, and wouldn’t Lily want love for her child? No, Severus. I will take Harry.”

There was no sorrow left, and there was no anger, only hard, cold hatred. In that moment, Severus hated Dumbledore, and he hated the Dark Lord, and more than anything else, he hated himself. If he’d been a better person, Lily would not lie dead on the floor. The child in his arms would not be an orphan.

With one last choked cry, he thrust Harriet into Dumbledore’s arms and fled into the night. 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Fidelius. Bloody fidelius. I’ve had so many back and forth discussions of fidelius, both for Harriet, and for this chapter. In PoA, the Potters are under fidelius for only a week before their deaths, but in DH, Lily’s letter shows that they’ve been in hiding since before Harry’s birthday. I don’t understand how they can possibly be in hiding in the Potter’s ancestral home without fidelius, so I’ve taken the executive decision that Fudge was talking utter bollocks in PoA and didn’t actually have a clue. The Potters were under the fidelius since at least July 1981.
> 
> Speaking of getting everything muddled, turns out the 31st of October 1981 was a Saturday… so Vernon went to work on a Sunday? I think not, somehow… Rowling must not have checked her calendar!
> 
>  


	8. Winged Death

Severus retreated to Malfoy Manor to lick his wounds. He had no screams left in him. He was empty, calm, spent. He arrived by apparition, letting the gates feel his magic to allow him entry, and walking up the long driveway in the dark. Ahead of him, only a few lights in the manor burned.

The door opened before him, and he swept into the marble hallway. The house elf who had let him in bowed deeply. “Master is in the small dining room,” he said. “He asked that you join him there.”

Severus didn’t respond; he just swept past the elf.

He didn’t find only Lucius in the dining room. The Malfoy patriarch sat at the head of the table, his hands clasped before him and his face pale. Around the table ranged other high-ranking Death Eaters- the Lestrange brothers, Rosier, Avery, Dolohov, Yaxley. Lucius beckoned him forward with a weary hand. “What news do you bring, Severus?” he asked. 

Severus’ dark eyes swept over the gathering. He shrouded his mind from habit, though he felt no little nudges of legilimency, and none here were practiced in its use.  

“I tried to find the Lord when the Mark burned,” he said dully, his throat still dry and aching from his outburst. “I could not go to him. I remember his single-minded feelings towards the Potter blood traitor and mudblood. I went to their cottage. It is in ruins. Albus Dumbledore is there; I could not reveal myself. I saw no evidence of ongoing conflict. If the Lord was there, he is no longer.”

Lucius nodded. “Sit, Severus.” 

Severus took a seat across the table from Rabastan. Lucius slid a glass of firewhiskey down the table. “We all felt the burn,” he said. “The Marks are fading now.”

Severus pushed up his sleeve again. Lucius was right: what had once been black as ink and had turned cherry red was now fading to pink, like a week-old scar. Carefully, he touched it with a long finger. It was smooth and shiny, not hot, just as he would expect healing scar tissue to be. “Something must have happened to our Lord,” he said with no emotion whatsoever.

“We have come to the same conclusion.”

“Surely, the blood traitors could not have overcome him,” Avery said flatly. “His power was too great.”

“If he was injured,” Rabastan argued, “then he may need aid. We must find him.”

“Indeed,” Lucius said smoothly. “I think searches are in order indeed, but some must remain here to gather the loyal. This is an obvious gathering point, as we have all found.” He looked around the table. “I will stay.”

“I am more use gathering information from Dumbledore’s camp,” Severus added. “I should return to Hogwarts soon, and see what news there is.”

Rodolphus agreed. “That leaves six,” he said. “We should split into pairs, visit the faithful who have not come here, try to find information, try to find the Lord.”

“We should meet back here at sundown tomorrow night,” Dolohov suggested, and within twenty minutes, only Lucius and Severus remained. 

Lucius eyed his last guest. “Let us retreat to the study,” he suggested. It was there, before the fire, that the two men made their plans. “There will be recriminations,” Lucius began. “If we are caught, then we will be imprisoned.”

“You believe that the Dark Lord has fallen?” Severus asked, less guarded now that he was alone with Lucius- perhaps the closest thing to a friend he had left, now that Lily was… he stopped that thought, pushed it to the back of his carefully schooled mind. There was no benefit to thinking of Lily now.

“I’m almost sure of it. You are not yourself, Severus. You know something. What did you see at the Potter cottage?”

Severus swirled his firewhiskey in the tumbler, staring at the patterns the fire made dancing through the flickers of the drink. Much as he would like to, he could not completely wipe Lily from the situation. “James and Lily Potter are dead,” he said flatly. “Their child is alive. Dumbledore is taking it to safety.”

Lucius took in a deep breath. “Then it is... that prophecy…” he said. “A child has truly bested the Dark Lord?”

Severus lifted a shoulder, unable to summon any emotion. “Perhaps,” he said. 

The two men, the closest to friends one could come in this cut-throat world, sat in silence for a few minutes. “We will wait,” Lucius decided. “We must wait until we know more before firm plans are made. But I will not go to Azkaban. If the Dark Lord is truly gone, I will claim to have been under the influence of Imperius, I think. Will Dumbledore protect you?”

“I believe so,” Severus said. He knew he should care. He knew he should be worried, but all he could think about was Lily, cold in his arms. He still didn’t truly know what had happened, but he knew that Lily was gone. He could still feel the weight of her as he held her body to him, but he could not recall her laugh.

Lucius broke into his thoughts. “I know you held a flame for the muggleborn,” he said. “Forget her, Severus. It was a foolish thing. You must see that now. Find yourself a pureblooded woman. Do not dilute your blood further. The Prince bloodline was a reasonably respected one until your mother made off with a muggle.” 

Severus nodded woodenly. “I should return to the school,” he said, draining the last of his drink. “Please inform me of any developments.”

“Likewise, my friend.” Lucius rose to clasp arms with Severus. “You may know the situation before I.”

Severus took the floo back to the castle, swirling into his office. He looked around, amazed that somehow everything was the same when the world was forever changed, forever less. With slow, measured steps, he paced through to his classroom, then through the storeroom door to his private quarters. Calmly, he hung his robes on the stand, as was his custom. Then he folded to the floor in a heap of broken man.

He lay in the room lit only by the flicker of the fire laid by the house elves. 

When he woke, he was covered with the throw blanket from the sofa, a cushion was below his head, and Dumbledore was sitting in Severus’ favourite chair. The headmaster peered over the edge of the journal he held- Severus recognised it as the  _ Ars Potiomedica _ that had been on his mantel. “Ah. Severus. You’re awake.”

Severus sat up, his bones complaining about their time on the floor. He raked his hair out of his face with one shaking hand. “I shouldn’t be,” he muttered. Clumsily, he stumbled to his feet. “I should be dead. Not her.”

“Those are not our choices to make,” Dumbledore said sadly. 

Severus stared at Dumbledore from under the heavy, stringy curtain of his hair. How dare Dumbledore sit there so calmly, Severus wondered. How could he possibly just sit reading about the advances in anticoagulants when Lily- sweet, pure, innocent Lily- was dead! “You were going to keep her safe,” he hissed. “You said that you would keep her safe… you were hiding her!”

“She put her faith in the wrong person, Severus. Rather like you- after all, did you not ask Voldemort to protect her?”

Severus choked on his breath, a sob desperately caught and not able to escape. “How dare you!” he snapped out. “How dare you turn that on me… I have given you everything,  _ everything _ ! I have worked for you and I have spied for you!”

“And I have upheld my end of that bargain,” Albus replied mildly. “I have helped you lay strong protections on your muggle lover’s house-”

“She is not my lover!” Severus interrupted angrily. “I don’t love her! I can’t love her!”

“You must be calm, my boy,” Albus said. “The time for anger will come, the time for sorrow will come, but now is not that time. We have to act, Severus. Voldemort is gone. The aurors are already planning their trials for Death Eaters.”

“So it’s true?” Severus asked, amazed. “The Dark Lord… he’s really gone? He was really killed by a baby?” He sat hard on his sofa, not able to really believe it.

“Not killed,” Dumbledore explained calmly, as if Severus had never shouted. “I do not think he is dead. There was no body, you see. If he were dead, Tom’s body would have been there. I fear, instead, that he is defeated, at least for the time being, and severely weakened. But we must take this time to regroup, rebuild, regrow.”

“Where’s Lily’s child?” Severus demanded hoarsely.

“Safe,” was all Dumbledore would say. “Little Harry is safe, away from the eyes of the wizarding world.”

“She’d have been safe with me!” Severus cried out.

Dumbledore shook his silvery head with a sad smile. “My boy, the child was not Lily. In your grief, I fear that you are confusing Harry and dear Lily.”

“I’m not,” Severus grunted. 

“Severus, my boy… there is work to which you are better suited than childrearing,” Dumbledore sighed. “Come, sit. We have much to discuss.”

Severus stared at him for long seconds, his dark, hooded gaze inscrutable. He felt the subtle press of Albus’ mind on his, and he wondered not for the first time if it was deliberate, or if the headmaster simply broadcast his legilimency in the same way as Severus himself naturally defended his own mind. And safe in his well-defended mind, Severus replayed Dumbledore's words from the night before, his assertion that Severus was a father in nothing but blood, incapable. But then, maybe Dumbledore was right… maybe Robin would be better off without him… and maybe Harriet would be better in a safe, loving home, where no one worried about where to find the money for her clothes, or how to make the next staggering house payment. Maybe he was selfish and cruel for keeping Robin in such a precarious situation. “The child will be cared for?” he asked softly.

“Little Harry has gone to good, respectable people who will love him,” Dumbledore confirmed. “Come, Severus. Sit. You will need some breakfast, and we must discuss our next move.”

Severus couldn’t see any better option at the moment. He folded himself onto the sofa, never taking his eyes from the headmaster. “Indeed,” he said, trying for a facsimile of his usual tone. “And what plans do you have?”

There might have been sarcasm there, but Dumbledore did not rise to the bait. “We must first ascertain the fate of Tom Riddle,” he said. “I presume that his followers will be searching for him: you must keep your contacts, and pass on the news to to Order.”

“And be arrested as a Death Eater?” Severus asked mildly, as if it were of no true interest to him. 

At least Albus had the grace to raise an eyebrow there. “Oh, my dear boy, no. I would not repay your service so. I will testify for you, privately, so that you never come to trial, and your spying is never known by your previous… associates. It is the least I can do.”

Severus nodded stiffly. “If you’ll excuse me…” he muttered. “I have things I should be getting on with.”

Dumbledore sighed, standing. “Indeed. Lessons have been cancelled for the rest of the week, so do not fret on that part. I think that the revelry is perhaps premature, but, alas, too many other voices have overruled me.” He made off towards the door, but turned before he got there. “I hope you do not hold me taking the child against me, Severus. You must see, though, that I was right. Surely Lily’s little son deserves better than the little you can give?”

Severus gritted his teeth, and it wasn’t until Albus had shut the door behind him that the mug that sat on the coffee table was hurled at the wall. 

The hours passed in strange fits and starts: sometimes they flew past and he found himself waking from a stupor with no memory of the passing time. Sometimes, every second lived in the world was a stabbing pain, each moment that passed whilst Lily was cold and dead was a slap in the face. He wondered where little Harriet was; who would raise her. Perhaps Lily’s parents… but no. he remembered that they were in a nursing home, no place for a child. Probably a wizarding family, then- a family that could give her a lovely life. A spoilt, pampered existence. Then he felt like throwing things again. She’d get everything his son couldn’t have. Dumbledore would have placed his little saviour of the wizarding world with some doting couple.

For that’s what she was. Over the last few hours, the pieces had begun to fall into place in Severus’ rampaging mind. The prophecy that Trelawny had made, that the Dark Lord had pulled from his head, for even Severus could not hold up completely under an assault from the Dark Lord. He’d given it up to protect the walls he’d built around Robin and Annie in his mind, never knowing that the Lord would take it seriously. The Trelawny woman was crazy, surely anyone could see that! But for some reason, both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord took the ridiculous prophecy at face value. Could it possibly be true? Could a little baby have been the one to defeat the might of the Dark Lord? It was a ridiculous notion, but Severus could see no other option. Why would he have left the child alive, and yet killed Lily and Potter? It made no sense. 

In minutes and in eons, it came time for him to return back to Malfoy Manor. He arrived the conventional way this time, though the floo that took him directly to the family receiving chambers by virtue of his blood adoption into the family when Lucius and Narcissa’s son was born. Almost two years later, Lucius still credited him with the safe delivery of their son, as it had been Severus who’d noticed the pregnant Narcissa’s failing health and recommended that she visit her healer, where they found her to be in the early stages of pre-eclampsia.

A house elf popped into the room, already bowing. “Master asks that you join him in his study before proceeding to the small dining room,” it intoned. 

“Thank you,” Severus muttered, the whole situation seeming a cruel parody of the night before. But at least Lucius was alone in his study.

He sat before the fire to ward off the November chill. His face was drawn, paler even than his usual Malfoy pallor, and his grey eyes stared unflinchingly into the middle distance, the flames no barrier to his mind’s eye. He did not even glance at Severus, but he knew when his companion entered the room. “It is all lost,” he muttered. “There is no sign, Severus, none at all. We have backed the wrong horse, my friend.”

“The others have returned?”

Lucius twitched his head in an exhausted semblance of a nod. “Over the last few hours, many followers have found their way here. And not one has a sighting of the Lord. And every mark has faded. The word is that the Potter child killed him… the babe’s no older than Draco!”

“I agree, the notion is… laughable.”

“No matter the details, the Lord is gone. I was waiting for you before I acted… you must return to Dumbledore and play the lackey if you would like to escape capture. I am taking Narcissa and Draco and turning myself in to the aurors. I hope that my house full of Death Eaters will be collateral enough to convince them of my time under the imperius curse.”

“You mean to give them to the aurors? All of them?” Severus asked, shocked by this level of callousness, even from Malfoy. 

“I must protect my family, Severus. You must understand.” Lucius finally tore his gaze from the fire, stood, faced Severus. There were creases in his perfect complexion, bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes. “You are family, too. You are, after all, my Draco’s godfather. It is in payment for your help that I give you this chance. Go now, and consider my debt settled.”

“Lucius…”

“Go.”

Severus saw no other choice. “I never held you in my debt, Lucius,” he said quietly, before turning to leave. He heard voices from the small dining room, but hurried past. He could not doubt Malfoy now. Of anyone, Lucius was vicious and calculating enough to do as he had said. Severus would just have to take his word for it. Less than a quarter of an hour after he had arrived, he left again, knowing that he might never again see some of his former associates, and that, within hours, perhaps he’d be behind bars. For did he really trust Dumbledore? Did he really trust Lucius? Perhaps he’d be a soulless husk, kissed for his crimes. He shivered. 

That cold finger of dread accompanied him right through the halls of Hogwarts. Many pupils were at home with their families, revelling in delight at the turn of events, but he knew that, in the Slytherin common room, would be a collection of children who by tomorrow might well be orphans to Azkaban. Lyson Yaxley was twelve years old, just months into his Hogwarts career. By tomorrow, perhaps he would find his father, and his mother too, no longer able to recognise him after the dementor’s kiss. And his own little Robin…

He couldn’t help hearing Dumbledore over again, hearing that damning echo of the criticism of his parenting ringing through every corner of his mind. If he survived, he decided he would be a better father.

Dumbledore stood at his window as Severus arrived in his office, staring out into the darkness as if he could see the world from that gloomy perch. “What news, my boy?” Albus asked, never turning away.

“No one has been able to locate him,” Severus replied. “The Death Eaters are gathered at Malfoy Manor.”

Albus sighed. “Such poor, misguided souls,” he muttered to himself. “Where have we gone wrong? They passed through these halls, almost every one of them. What should we have done better?”

“Headmaster, I would like to give my notice of resignation.”

That made Albus whirl, surprisingly spry for an owner of such magnificently white hair. “Resignation? My dear boy, no! You must not, you cannot! Whatever has given you such a notion? Do you not have a good life with us here?”

Severus nodded stiffly. “I cannot complain overmuch of my treatment here. But now that the Dark Lord is no more, I would like to return to my training as a mediwizard, and I would like to attempt to make a better home for my son. You are right. I am no father to him, absent so much of the time. It is not a good way for him to live.”

Albus was suddenly looking much older. He leaned heavily on the back of his chair. “No, Severus, you cannot.”

“My duty here is done,” Severus informed him. “You said yourself that I should see more to Robin’s care: that is what I intend to do.” Money would be very, very tight, he knew, but he’d managed on his training bursary when Robin was a baby, and he could manage again. He knew he’d be welcomed back- there were not enough mediwizards to turn one away. He’d probably have to move in with Annie and Robin for a year or two, but he was older, wiser now, and as long as he did not share a bed with Annie, he could manage. It would be better for Robin to have him around more. 

Dumbledore sat himself in his grand seat. “No, Severus. I told you that I do not believe that Tom is dead: he is merely weakened, in hiding. You must maintain your position here.”

“You can’t stop me, headmaster.”

There was silence, marred only by the crackle of the fire. After some moments, Albus spoke. “I can withdraw my support,” he said. “I think that Azkaban would not suit your new fatherly ambitions.”

Severus hung onto his control by a thread. “As you say, Headmaster,” he forced out. 


End file.
